Just Moments
by Ralph E. Silvering
Summary: Moments in time are all we have. Snapshots of Michael and Nikita.
1. Chapter 1

_**Just Moments **_

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita.**_

**Comments: These will be short snap-shots of moments during Season 1. No particular order, just scenes that I wish had gone on a little longer, or moments that I think could have happened.**

Finally Captured

He'd known this mission wasn't going to end well as soon as he'd learned that Alex was being activated early. There was something distinctly ominous in Amanda's watchfulness over her that had Michael's danger senses tingling.

And then, on top of everything else, Birkhoff found Nikita's shell code.

Michael had tried to divert Percy's attention, he'd tried to stall the mission, and most of all he'd tried really hard not to speculate on who Nikita's mole was.

He told himself that he'd tried to halt the mission for Alex's sake; that a manhunt for Nikita during her first op would put her in terrible danger, but he couldn't fool himself.

He'd done it to protect Nikita.

It didn't seem to matter that he was supposed to be furious with her for stopping him from getting Kasim. It also didn't seem to matter that he wasn't at all sure he could trust her anymore – or if he ever should have.

His instinct to protect her was a strong as ever.

So when Alex's mission all went pear-shaped and Nikita had grabbed the girl, his first thought wasn't for the safety of his agent, but fear that finally this time Nikita had bitten off more than she could chew.

"Michael, over here," one of his men called to him, and even though he'd just been shot mere minutes ago he limped over as quickly as he could, trying to still the pounding in his heart of what would happen to her should any of his agents get to Nikita before he did.

The door to the shed was shoved open and Michael yelled "Hold your fire!", putting a hand on the man in front of him in order to still any shots.

Nikita was on the ground and Alex was standing over her, viciously kicking her.

Thom, newly minted agent though he was, ran forwards and pulled Alex away from her, wrapping the girl in his arms as she stared in horror at the woman beneath her. Michael winced involuntarily, both at the pain in his leg from his using it when he shouldn't be, and at the sight of Alex kicking a defenseless woman – something he hadn't believed her to be capable of.

He looked down as well.

Nikita's dark eyes stared fixedly at his feet, refusing to glance up at his face. She looked helpless and so tiny, lying on the ground before him.

"Prepare to ex-fil," Michael told his agents, his face a blank mask. "We're bringing her in."

The man next to him zapped Nikita, and Michael watched as she arched her back in sudden, blinding pain, a slight groan of pain passing between her lips involuntarily, before she went still.

Michael glanced once more at Alex, unable to suppress the sudden flare of anger that rose up within him at the thought that this girl had been the one to get Nikita captured. He told himself that Alex was merely doing her duty and that she had been right to stop Nikita, that Nikita was dangerous and untrustworthy. He began to believe his own rhetoric until he saw the man next to him reach out to grab Nikita.

"Stop," he snapped at the man. "I've got her.

The man looked confused. "But sir, your leg," he protested.

"I said, I've got her." Michael's voice booked no argument, and the man backed off as Michael awkwardly bent down and pulled Nikita into his arms. Her head lolled back until he hoisted her up until she rested comfortably on his shoulder. He could feel the faint beating of her heart.

Another man ordered the truck to be brought up before the house, as Thom hustled Alex outside and Michael began to make his slow, halting way down the hill, Nikita still held tight to him.

Refusing to relinquish Nikita to anyone else, his men hoisted him up into the back of the truck. Michael's pants leg was now soaked with blood, and the leg itself was throbbing terribly as he slid along the bench until he was leaning against the wall of the truck. His men, Alex and Thom filed in after him.

The ride back to Division was long. The men soon forgot about him and Alex refused to look at Nikita, immersing herself instead in a whispered conversation with Thom.

Michael closed his eyes and shifted Nikita until her head fit under his chin and he could breathe in the scent of her hair.

He swallowed convulsively.

He knew what would happen to her at Division; she would be tortured and then she would be killed.

There was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing he thought he _should _do to stop it. The woman in his arms was a threat to Division and to the country: she had to be stopped. But there was this utterly sick feeling at the bottom of his stomach and he couldn't still the shaking of his hands as they held Nikita's slight body to him.

He was going to have to watch her die.

They were almost to Division when Michael felt Nikita awaken. She jerked infinitesimally, as though she were about to struggle, before she suddenly stilled and he knew that she had recognized the fact that he was the one holding her.

He felt her take several deep breaths to calm herself and then she relaxed back into his embrace, her face turning just the slightest bit so she could bury it in his shirt. His arms reflexively closed tighter around her.

None of the others noticed that she was awake, or when she closed her one of her fists tightly around the fabric of his coat.

Michael knew she was scared, and knew also that she would never admit it.

He also knew that they were both pretending. She was pretending that he hadn't noticed her awake, and he was pretending that she hadn't awoken.

Both denying what would happen when the truck stopped.

And then they had arrived and she pretended to awaken before she was led off towards the elevators between several huge guards, her hands tied behind her and her face set resolutely in front of her.

Michael had no idea how he would face her, no idea how he would live with her final glance towards him, but he needn't have worried.

She never looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from **_**Nikita**_**. Takes place after 1x13. I **_**loved **_**Prince Eric of Georgia, and I didn't think I was going to, so this will be from his perspective and how he views our two favorite people of all time – Nikita and Michael.**

Chapter Two: Love over Duty

Eric kept one arm around Leela as he shook the police commander's hand. Wrapped in a blanket, with a calm expression on her face, she looked too in control and assured for a woman who had faced almost certain death multiple times this night from the hired mercenaries of his wife – soon to be ex-wife.

His arm tightened convulsively around her as he once again thought about the fact that he had almost lost her. She glanced up at him and smiled reassuringly, always the one trying to help him, the one trying to save him. His kissed the top of her head gently, ignoring the inquisitive glance of the NYPD commander.

When Leela stiffened slightly as something caught her attention, he turned to follow her gaze. FBI agents were escorting out the mercenaries. He watched them carefully, remembering Nikita's words about how the FBI agents weren't really FBI but more of those mercenaries.

Leela was watching a young girl, being shepherded out by a very large agent. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, the rest of his attention still focused upon his conversation with the policeman, Eric saw the girl smile happily as she walked passed them. He realized that the girl must be Alex, Nikita's partner on the inside, and he marveled at how young she was to be involved in such a life.

The police commander soon left, the prince's own security soon surrounded him, and both Eric and Leela took a seat atop one of the police cars as they waited for the 'so called' FBI agents to tell them that they were free to leave. Leela, her finger bandaged and given something for the pain, soon nodded off, her head leaning gently on his shoulder, but Eric kept his eyes peeled.

He was waiting for a beautiful dark-haired young woman.

The one person who alone was responsible for him standing here, alive, with the woman he loved asleep next to him.

He knew the false FBI agents were in that building right now. Hunting her.

He knew that the man called Michael was leading them. Michael, whom Nikita had called her prince.

"_Some prince, huh?" _she had commented, somewhat bitterly, to him not even an hour ago after her failed negotiations with the man.

He couldn't fathom how she could handle the man she was in love with trying to kill her. He couldn't understand a man hunting down the woman he loved.

The only conclusion he could draw was that this mercenary, called Michael, wasn't in love with Nikita like she was with him.

And yet ….. there had been so much buried in both of their voices as he heard them speaking over the coms. There was too much emotion, too much suppressed pain and too much anger for either to be merely apathetic about the other. Michael's gravelly voice had warned her to get out, told her to walk away while she still could.

And Nikita …. Nikita had been apologizing for something, and begging for something at the same time. Eric had no idea what kind of past lay between them, but it was definitely deep, and there had been trust between them once upon a time – of that he was certain.

He watched carefully as FBI agents and cops milled around among his own delegation. Once he could have sworn that he heard gunfire from one of the agents' headsets.

He could feel his stomach tying in knots at the thought that, after saving his life, she would be unable to save her own.

Watching the front entrance, dreading to see them carrying Nikita's lifeless body out the door, he noticed a sender FBI agent exit and walk right in front of him. Not even fifteen seconds later another agent burst out of the door. This one threaded angrily around various agents and medical workers, pulling off his helmet and hood as he came and revealing a young, handsome face, both stern and intense, and with piercing, irate-filled eyes.

Eric watched in curiosity as the man came to a halt fairly close to him and the sleeping Leela. He racked his gaze rapidly over the crowd in front of him, appearing to desperately search for someone. He stilled when his eyes landed upon the slender FBI agent walking quickly away from them both.

Eric leaned forward and glanced around the FBI van to see the agent pull off helmet and hood to reveal long, dark hair which she shook out around her. In his peripheral vision Eric saw the man – who he now knew had to be Michael – let out the breath he'd been holding.

Appearing to sense Michael's eyes upon her, Nikita stopped and turned around, catching his gaze with hers. His heart beating rapidly, both from relief and fear, Eric quickly looked back to the man standing in FBI garb before him.

Michael's expression was a war between overwhelming relief, anger, exasperation, and something so dark and desperate that Eric had no idea how to begin to classify it. Fascinated, Eric watched the mercenary until Nikita obviously vanished from the way the other man blinked, looked chagrined and quickly glanced around him to see if anyone noticed.

Michael's eyes landed on him fairly quickly.

Eric couldn't seem to turn away as Michael walked straight toward him.

The agent held out a gloved hand as soon as he came within reach. "I'm Michael. Glad to see that you made it out alright, sir." Michael glanced down at the woman still asleep on the prince's shoulder. "Is she alright?"

Eric realized his lungs were burning because he'd been holding his breath the entire time. Exhaling noisily, he managed to nod – somewhat jerkily it was true – and answer.

"Yes, she just has a broken finger from one of the terrorists. She'll be fine."

Michael made to move away from them, but Eric's next words stopped him.

"The woman, Nikita, saved us both." Eric watched with some apprehension, as the dark gaze of the assassin came back to fix upon him. "My wife wanted me dead, and she hired these people to do it. She hired _you _to do it." Michael's gaze became even more intent and Eric had the feeling the man was mentally calculating how many ways he could kill him without anyone else noticing.

Eric, in mild surprise, noticed the man's bearing and saw the military discipline under the assassin's cold stare. Reassured the tiniest bit, he pushed on.

"Because of one woman's greedy ambition, both myself and my assistant Leela, would have been murdered. Nikita risked her life to save ours. Isn't that supposed to be your motto? 'To serve and protect'?"

"That's the police motto, not ours."

"It's _all _law enforcement."

Eric had no idea why he was risking this man's wrath, why he was purposely encouraging it, but he suspected that it had something to do with the way that Nikita had looked at him and Leela together, that look of loneliness and longing.

Eric owed Nikita; he owed her everything. And if this was the man she wanted, then Eric was going to try and do what he could to make Michael see a little glimpse of the truth.

Perhaps Michael deserved it on his own, as well: from one soldier to another.

"That's very touching," Michael was clearly angry and not really listening, "just don't tell anyone else that story. They won't be as understanding as I am." He hefted his helmet and turned to walk off.

"She loves you," Eric said, quietly, after him. Michael froze but didn't turn around. "You're her very own fairy tale. Her prince, she called you. Think about that the next time you're sent out to kill her."

Whether Michael turned around to look at him, Eric had no idea, for with those final words he got up, gathered Leela gently in his arms, and walked away.

_Some prince, _he thought.

And to his surprise the words were not merely a condemnation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from **_**Nikita **_**or about Mikita; which is sad sometimes, because I have so many ideas for awesome scenes between them. This scene is way before Season 1. I keep trying to stay away from Nikita's Division days because I'm hoping the writers will come up with **_**much **_**better ideas than mine. But this scene is kinda fun, so here it is. Pure silliness.**

**Oh please lovely readers; go to and vote for MIKITA for Best Kiss!**

The First Time

"Come on, Michael," Nikita taunted. "Are you afraid to hit a girl?"

She danced out of reach as Michael took a swipe at her.

Her dark hair swirling around her, her eyes alight with laughter, she looked truly happy for the first time since Michael had met her.

"You're avoiding instead of attacking. Eventually you'll have to …." he panted a bit "… strike me."

"Yeah," Nikita called cheekily from just out of reach, "when you're nice and _tired _from chasing me."

Michael stepped back for a second, pulling off his ever present suit jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "I'll catch you eventually," he said, turning back to face her.

"Is that a threat or a promise, Michael?"

Nikita darted closer and Michael's hand shot out, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward him. Nikita's leg shot out. She kicked him right in the knee and as he stumbled back she twisted out of reach again.

"Come on Michael. You're not even trying!"

Nikita would admit, if only to herself, that she loved seeing Michael like this. His hair was disheveled and his face was red with exertion, but what she loved most was the sparkle in his eyes. She almost never saw it except in moments like these – when he was with her.

It had been half a year now since she had first met him, half a year since she'd been forcibly inducted into this secret government program, and during all that time Michael had portrayed a stoic exterior and an unflinching regard for doing things according to the rules.

He was nice to all the recruits – in a distant, authoritative sort of way – but he never smiled.

From the moment their eyes met there had been something between them, some sort of spark, but during those first few weeks in Division she thought that she'd been mistaken. He rarely talked to her outside the classes he taught them, and then only to ask her general questions like how she was doing, was the food sufficient and so forth.

The first time she had seen a glimpse of the real Michael, she had been on the sparing mats fighting a much more advanced recruit. When she had – very surprisingly to all present except maybe Michael – thrown the man and won the fight, she had seen his eyes light up with pride as he looked at her.

She'd been so shocked that she had failed to watch her surroundings, and her downed opponent had swept her legs out from under her, dumping her straight on her ass.

She'd rolled over and watched a wry, amused grin spread quickly across Michael's face … and just as quickly disappear.

And she'd known that she wanted to see him smile again.

And so had begun what Nikita privately called to herself, 'Operation Batman'.

So far it had been mostly a fail. She'd taunted him, teased him, and tried to astound him with her brilliance: anything she could think of. But although he was certainly protective of her, and certainly receptive to her teasing, he only ever showed her brief moments of the man behind the mask.

Nikita wanted more.

"I think you're scared that I might actually beat _you_," Nikita taunted, eyes alight with mischief.

And he grinned.

Two moves later it was all over. Nikita was pinned face down on the mats, her arm twisted up behind her and Michael's knee pressing firmly into her lower back.

His voice was a growl at her ear. "Not yet."

She shivered, feeling her lips threatening to break out into a smile. Operation Batman was progressing nicely, thank you very much.

Birkhoff's voice echoed down the hallway.

"Michael, are you down here?"

Michael was off of Nikita in a second, reaching down to pull her up after him. "We've sparred enough for one day. Get cleaned up. You're do in logistics in a half hour." He turned away from her as Birkhoff came through the doorway.

Nikita frowned at how easily he had dismissed her, but she decided that enough was enough for one day and she headed off to the showers – limping a bit because that session had been a killer. She had been exhausted even _before _she'd challenged Michael to a duel.

Michael listened to Birkhoff with only half an ear, distracted more than a little bit as he recalled Nikita's warm body under his, watching as beads of sweat travelled slowly down the back of her neck as he pressed her face into the ground.

He blinked a bit, attention returning to Birkoff as the exasperated tech repeatedly called his name. Hand-waving whatever request Birkhoff had made of him, Michael stalked off down the hallway, scooping up his jacket as he left.

He slowed as he passed the showers. Only one jet of water was running and he knew exactly who was in there. For the first time since Lizzy died, Michael found himself wondering what a woman looked like, naked.

He tried to make himself move on, tried not to picture the warm water rushing over her body …. Michael, feeling suddenly warm, unbuttoned the top three buttons of his collar. He'd just convinced himself to take another step away from the shower doors, when he heard a pain-filled moan coming from over the water.

Quickly pushing open the door and dropping his jacket, he moved along the shower stalls and ripped open the one containing Nikita.

Nikita spun around at the rush of cold air and Michael froze, one hand still holding the curtain open.

She was perfect.

Water droplets ran over her face and across those full lips, down her throat, over her slender shoulders and the arms that had risen automatically to cover her breasts, across her stomach and down over her –

Michael jerked his eyes back up to her face. Those dark, beautiful eyes and her hair, dark and silky and wet –

And Michael realized in that moment, as he grew more and more aroused, that he wanted her, desperately. He had wanted her from almost the very moment he'd met her. Wanted her in a way he had never thought he'd want anyone ever again since Lizzy died.

He swallowed convulsively, his hands flexing as he fought not to reach out and pull her toward him.

Nikita had spun around as the shower curtain had ripped away, but the sharp words on her lips died instantly when she saw that it was Michael.

His shirt was still rolled up, and he'd apparently undone some buttons as well. More skin than she had ever seen from him was displayed for her perusal in this moment. She watched, fascinated, as his green eyes darkened as he gazed at her.

Somewhat abashed at his scrutiny, she brought her arms up to cover her breasts, but she couldn't bring herself to break this instant. She watched as his face lost all masks in that one moment, pure naked hunger covering his features.

He wanted her.

She could see it in every line of his body.

And he was fighting it with all he had.

Having wanted to bring this side out of him for months now, Nikita was suddenly frightened. There was so much hidden and repressed inside him. She could feel her heart beating, in both fear and arousal.

"Michael." She said.

His eyes snapped up and met her gaze.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I thought you had …. Injured yourself."

"No," Nikita whispered, shaking her head but her eyes unable to look away from his intense green ones.

A muscle twitched in Michael's cheek, he wrenched his head away and the spell was broken.

"I'll leave you to your shower," he said. And then he was gone.

Nikita closed the curtain and found that her hands were shaking.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

And then, irreverently, she thought, _Operation Batman is well under way._


	4. Chapter 4

**Just Moments**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from **_**Nikita. **_**Takes place about a year after Nikita has left Division. Not entirely sure if Michael is in character here, but I liked the idea that Nikita had come back just for him after she'd disappeared. I don't like that stretch of three years where they're not in contact with one another!**

_Shadows and Hallucinations_

She thought that she had never wanted to see him again. She'd been so angry at him after Daniel was killed, at all of them, but mostly at him. She had wanted him on her side. She'd _needed_ him to be with her, and in the end she felt like he'd let Division use her and then abandoned her.

So she'd left. Never looking back. Never hesitating.

She'd run as far and as fast as she could.

But he'd told her once that you can never really run away from who you are. And he had been right.

Barely two months after Nikita left Division, she found herself standing on the shores of the Pacific, gazing east, towards home.

She'd gone to Asia after she'd left New York.

Half-heartedly she'd searched for the Udinov girl, telling herself that she wanted to see if she was alright, but deep down she knew that she was running, that she was trying to distract herself. That she was trying to forget.

And then it was March 19th and she'd found herself in Hong Kong, looking East as if she could see him across all those many thousands of miles.

March 21st, he'd told her, 2001. That was the day his family had been killed. She'd realized at the time he'd told her this, in an academic sort of way, the effect that it had had on him. But she'd never fully comprehended just how tortured he still was by their absence, how racked with guilt and how filled with pain he still was, until the year after when she'd found him, on the Anniversary of their deaths, completely wasted in a bar in lower Manhattan.

Never had she seen Michael lose control like that before.

She'd stayed with him, until he hadn't been able to walk straight and he couldn't even remember her name, and then she'd brought him home. If he remembered the next day that she'd been the one with him, he'd never brought it up.

But the year after that, it was like he was waiting for her. She would never forget his smile, drunk though he was, when he caught sight of her.

This would be the first year that she wouldn't be there for him.

Nikita sat down on the edge of the pier and swung her legs out over the water. She worried her lip as she thought, the wind playing with her hair and clouds gathering on the horizon.

And then she took out her phone and made call.

Every year on this one date Michael tried to forget. And every year he failed. The numbness that alcohol provided never seemed to be enough to cover up what he was trying to forget, yet every once in a while he'd try again, as if the fundamental nature of whatever he was drinking had changed in the interim.

He was well on his way through the hard stuff this March 21st when an attractive, fair-haired woman sat down next to him.

"I'll have whatever he's having," she told the barkeep, before turning to face him with a flirtatious look.

Michael remained resolutely staring into his glass. He wasn't interested.

Obviously the woman was not in an observant mood that evening.

She reached over and gently stroked his arm. "Aww," she cooed in fake commiseration in a tone of voice that made Michael grit his teeth in annoyance, "you look like you're trying to forget." She inched closer to him. "Anything _I _can do to help with that?"

"Yeah, you can get lost, Blondie."

And Michael knew he was totally drunk and imagining things, because that was Nikita's low, musical voice issuing snarky comments from behind him. His heart jumped in his throat.

_But Nikita's gone, _he reminded himself, _forever. _And he took another large gulp from the glass in his hand. Michael had no idea if Nikita was still alive, but it was best if he never knew anything about her ever again for it would mean that Division had not found her.

He barely noticed as the blonde menace next to him vacated her seat and someone else slid into it.

But the next time he looked over he met Nikita's dark eyes, and his world ended all over again.

Nikita glared with intense dislike at the floozy all but throwing herself at Michael, and she continued to give the other woman the evil eye until she was on the complete opposite side of the room. Then she turned back and reached out, placing her hand gently on Michael's tense, leather-clad back as she maneuvered herself into the seat next to him.

He was staring fixedly into his glass and she took the time to gaze at him.

It had been almost a year but there were more lines on his face and next to his eyes then when she had seen him last, and there was something off in the line of his shoulders and the straightness of his back, as though he had lost a little part of what held him upright. He seemed to be well on his way to oblivion for his hands shook as he lifted the glass to his lips and downed its contents.

Nikita felt whatever anger she might have harbored towards him, slowly drain away as she sat next to him.

And then Michael turned towards her and all the color drained out of his face.

She tried to smile at him, but she wasn't sure that it worked. She hated seeing him like this – broken. She reached out and placed a hand gently on the side of his face, her thumb gently stroking his cheek.

His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into her hand for just a moment before he jerked himself backwards, almost tipping off the other side of his chair.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was husky and carried just the slightest slurring.

Nikita knew that he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning; she would be nothing but an hallucination to him. "I came back for you," she told him truthfully.

She watched Michael's stern face, brooding even in the depths of alcohol, and she just wanted to kiss the life out of him, an urge she had not felt since Daniel was killed.

Michael began looking slightly suspicious at the playful grin that appeared on her lips.

Nikita slowly stood off her chair, ran her hands up his arms and locked them around the back of his neck as she leaned close to him, her lips inches from his own.

Michael's eyes flickered down to her lips before becoming apparently mesmerized by her gaze. He parted his lips to say something, but Nikita gently pressed her mouth against his. His hands automatically came up to hold her gently to him.

Nikita pulled back, her breathing slightly irregular; he tasted just like she remembered. "Come with me," she whispered, her breath ghosting across his lips.

Michael let her grab his hand and pull his arm over her shoulders, before they walked out of the bar into the gently falling rain of a New York spring.

Nikita waved her arm for a Taxi, maneuvering Michael in ahead of her before sliding in after him. She told the driver Michael's address and then she turned and pressed herself into Michael's side, burying her head under his chin.

Michael had been gazing out of the window with the attention that only the very drunk bestow upon inconsequential objects, but he turned back at Nikita's actions and brought his arm around her, holding her to him tightly.

Nikita listened to his heartbeat, his quiet breathing, and she remained silent during the ride to Michael's apartment. She hadn't been this close to him in years and although it should have felt awkward or maybe even a betrayal of Daniel, instead it felt right. She felt that tingling sensation in her gut that told her she was exactly where she was supposed to be at this moment in time.

She was smiling as they pulled up to Michael's building, and she dragged him, laughing, through the rain into the foyer and then into the elevator. Michael stumbled and hit the opposite wall, pulling her against him hard as he did so, but they were both out of breath and smiling as the elevator reached the correct floor and they tumbled out.

Nikita grabbed Michael's key away from him, despite his half-hearted protests, and then she pushed him into his bedroom and down onto his bed. She pulled off his shoes and his jacket and looked down to see his eyes fixed upon her. His gaze was direct and intent, if a bit glassy and she settled herself on the bed next to him, before moving over to rest her head on his outstretched arm.

She absently traced her fingers over his stomach and chest, and she listened as Michael began talking. His words were rambling and sometimes didn't follow a logical thought pattern but he spoke long into the night before sleep finally claimed him.

Michael woke up the next morning with a raging headache and without the faintest recollection of how he'd made it back to his apartment. He blinked and squinted into the sunlight as he tried to recall the last thing that he remembered, but everything remained resolutely blank. Sighing, he rolled over and tried to haul himself out of bed.

A faint scent caught his attention and made him freeze. He knew this smell, although it had been so long since he'd come in contact with it. He breathed in deeply and then stumbled his way over to the shower, his sluggish mind trying to process everything.

As the cold water hit his upturned face Michael felt his lips churl up into a smile, and he knew, just knew, that everything was going to be alright.

Nikita had come back to him last night, even if she was only shadows and hallucinations.


	5. Chapter 5

**Just Moments**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from **_**Nikita.**_** Takes place during Nikita and Michael's fight at the end of 1x03. Thank you so much for all my lovely reviews. You all are just amazing! **

**Remember, these snapshots aren't part of a story, so sometimes I'm going to write a take of a scene that contradicts previous scenes, just because I like this angle at the time. In this scene I'm trying out the angle of what Maggie said at the beginning of the season – that Michael and Nikita had no idea that they still cared so much about one another since three years have elapsed since Nikita left him behind.**

**So at the beginning of the season Nikita tried to push Michael away from her, but then after she heard his confession to Alex that he was desperately afraid he had lost her in 1x06, she decided to reach out to him.**

_The Tango of Nikita and Michael_

Nikita tried to still her quick breathing and racing heart as she crouched at the top of the stairs. She spent a moment thanking her lucky stars that Jill was safely out of the house and in the custody of the police.

Then she strained her ears and tried to differentiate between the two sets of footsteps slowly circling below her.

She'd already taken out one of the henchmen sent to kill her. She was fairly certain that there were only three of them. _One down, one more to go …. And Michael, _she thought.

Whatever he was.

He'd obviously found his downed soldier for she heard his voice coming from the direction of the kitchen, trying to draw her out.

"Nikita, we found your wireless bug. It was pretty clever; old Birkhoff had no idea."

Nikita couldn't help smiling to herself. It sounded like Michael was trying to give her a heads up even though they were on opposing sides, and he thought she had gone off the reservation.

"Not such a smart guy after all," she called back, holding her breath in expectation and wondering what Michael would say in return. His voice was as controlled and impersonal as always, and sexy as hell to boot. "Does Birkhoff have a toothache, or did Percy just cancel him?" She wouldn't have admitted it, even to herself, but she was a little bit worried that her plan to protect Alex had placed Birkhoff in too much danger.

Michael must have heard that unacknowledged worry in her voice. "No, he's alive." Michael's voice was getting further away from her as he moved about the kitchen. "But it coulda gone either way." Nikita thought she detected a faint trace of disappointment with her in his tone. "You put him in danger, Nikita, that's not like you."

But Nikita was not going to let Michael make the mistake of trying to reach out to her. She'd gone after both Birkhoff and Michael when she had started her revenge. She'd tortured the former and shot the latter, all in an effort to protect them from Percy's reprisals.

She didn't want Percy to think that he could hurt her by hurting them. And she might be foolish enough to still care about them, but she wasn't fool enough to believe that they still cared enough about her to _not _follow Percy's orders when it came to killing her.

Her voice was hard as she told him, "you don't know me anymore, Michael."

At her last word gunfire broke the relative quiet and destroyed the speaker she was using. Nikita watched from the top of the staircase as the second Division agent stood facing away from her, weapon aimed squarely at the closet where he thought she was hiding.

She would have been dead if she had been.

Michael was behind the agent the next second. She couldn't see his face, but his weapon was also pointed at the closet door.

Nikita got ready to move.

Both men kept their weapons steady as the agent jerked open the door to find only the smoking speaker and not her.

Nikita jumped.

Michael heard her coming for his head had tilted and he'd started to move, but she landed behind him, knocked his weapon from his hands, pulled him hard against her and jammed her gun to his temple.

He grunted in pain at the pressure against his windpipe and raised one hand to try and pull her arm away.

The other Division operative swung around toward her. "Drop it, drop it" she warned him, just as Michael – one hand still around hers – raised the other and yelled "Don't" towards his agent.

The man didn't fire but he didn't lower his weapon either. _So much for doing this the easy way._

"Drop it," she told him again anyway. Hey, who said she couldn't be optimistic.

"Nikita," Michael's hands where around her arm and his voice rumbled through her from where their bodies touched. His breathing was heavy and uneven.

Her lips were against his ear and she felt him flinch as she breathed against him, "Tell your men to drop it, or I'll drop them."

Nikita's chin was resting on his shoulder. Michael took two quick breaths. "She won't hurt me."

Nikita, angry and hurt that Michael would so quickly giver her up, took her eyes off the operative to look at him. "Shut up!"

That slight inattention allowed Michael his move. One arm knocking the gun aside, his other elbow came up and slammed her in the face and he was free. He spun to face her.

Nikita recovered and raised her weapon.

"Get down!" the agent behind him yelled.

She had always been fast.

Michael ducked and she shot the operative behind him. He pulled the rug out from under her feet, dumping her on her back.

She was up again the next second, but her weapon had skidded across the floor and out of reach.

Nikita looked at Michael's resolute expression. She shook her head and tried to say his name, but he came in hard with a high strike.

Nikita grabbed his arm, twisted upwards and pushed him out of the hallway and into the larger front room. Michael's other arm snapped backwards, she blocked but he was free from her hold.

Michael immediately spun and punched. He knew the dangers involved in fighting Nikita. Her style was bold, precise, unpredictable and lightning fast. But she was much smaller and very light. If he could just get a hold on her arm …..

She seemed to sense his intentions. Her back to him, arms safely away from him she hit back, first with one elbow, then the other. Michael blocked each, swung and she ducked, avoiding the blow, her long hair whipping through the air in front of him.

But if Nikita was fast, Michael was relentless. His style might be more static, and his moves more predictable than hers, but Nikita knew better than to underestimate him. He would coldly, implacably execute his moves and block yours, all the while searching for your weakness, and when he found it he would exploit it without hesitation.

He gave three hooks, alternating sides, almost as if he were testing her. Nikita blocked each easily. And then her left arm, extended, swung towards him aiming straight for his throat.

Michael ducked.

She swung back hard with the right arm and he avoided that as well, but she didn't halt her spin. Using her momentum, she spun all the way around her left elbow coming back unerringly towards him.

Michael, though, had guessed her tactics. He blocked the elbow strike and then the follow up arm strike. She spun back towards the front and blindly shot out an uppercut towards his chin.

But now her arm was within his grasp.

Michael reached out, grabbed her, pulled her hard to him up and off the ground, spun and slammed her into the table behind.

Nikita was bent over backwards against the table, its sharp edges digging into her spine, and Michael's weight leaning on her from the front. She could feel his entire length pressed against her body, his warmth, the feel of his hands locked tightly over her arms.

"This isn't gonna work," he told her, and his smoky voice hit her like a ton of bricks.

Her following grunt of agreement became all mixed up with her moan and as his eyes flickered to her lips, her elbow shot up and across his arms catching him in the face once, then twice as he stumbled back from her and crashed into the wall on the other side of the room.

She swung, he blocked, he swung, she ducked.

Swing, block, swing, shove, knee, block, elbow, block, right hook ….

And he had her.

His thigh against hers, her arm imprisoned against his chest, quick gasps of airs as both tried to catch their breaths.

Her arm hurt like a mother.

"Look," he told her, "the more you try to do this, the more you hurt yourself."

Nikita cursed him silently for putting her in this position. She'd wanted to drive him away from her, wanted him to not find a trace of the old Nikita in her; the one he had trained, the one he had kissed, the one he had …

But he wasn't going for the kill. The entire exercise had felt more as if he were testing her, trying to see if she was skilled enough, and now reaching out to her because he believed she wasn't and trying to make her disappear before Division hunted her down.

He had her beaten after all.

The man was infuriating. He refused to believe she would kill him, he refused to kill _her_ and now he refused to believe that she was more than capable of kicking his ass.

This was going to hurt. Both of them.

"Michael," she gasped, and he turned towards her, "you have no idea how much pain I can take."

And then she dislocated her own shoulder.

Michael, in shock at the sound of bone snapping, released her arm. Nikita swung back around, her elbow strike catching him squarely in the back of the head. He collapsed to the ground with a faint groan.

Nikita stumbled up, hauled herself over to the door – her right arm hanging uselessly beside her – and disappeared around it.

Michael, eyes seeing double from her blow, was caught between exasperation at her both beating him and escaping in one go, and a feeling of intense pride.

That woman was seriously badass.


	6. Chapter 6

Just Moments

**Disclaimed: I don't own anything from **_**Nikita. **_**Takes place during 1x06 when Nikita listens to Michael's speech to Alex. Sometimes when I watch the show I feel like Nikita was trying to reach out to Michael and tell him that she loved him from the very beginning, but other times I feel like she only really started to reach out to him again after this Michael/Alex scene where Michael thinks Nikita is dead and all but admits to Alex and himself that he's still in love with Nikita and has been for many years.**

**I really love this scene if just for the desperation in Michael's voice and how lost he appears to be. And I love how Nikita has just received the devastating news about who killed Daniel, and it's Michael's confession that gives her hope, probably for the first time in years. It gives her something to live for.**

"_**Both broken, both lost, they find their way back to each other."**_

_After All This Time_

It took Nikita only twenty minutes to drive from the Lair to the gas-station in Jersey where Alex was waiting; no doubt terrified, cold, exhausted and overwhelmed.

She tried to focus on that as she drove, to focus on the girl who was waiting for her.

_The first thing I have to do is remove her tracker, _Nikita thought.

But even though she concentrated on her breathing, and she immersed herself in mission-mode, it failed to provide enough of a distraction. Her thoughts circled like birds, refusing to land on any one thing for an extended length of time.

And then she flashed back to how she'd found Daniel…face down in the water…forever gone…and she swerved off the road into the dirt.

She had just spent the past two days saving the life of his murderer.

Her hands gripped the wheel tightly as the car idled at the side of the highway and silent tears made their way slowly down her cheeks.

She remembered his smile, the way his eyes would shine when he looked at her, and the almost hesitant wonder in his face whenever he'd gather her into his arms; as if he couldn't really seem to believe that she was his.

And Owen had taken that away from her.

Of course she knew that it wasn't just Owen's fault….it wasn't even mostly Owen's fault, but rather the fault of Percy and all those who supported him, but right now that wasn't making the pain any better. Owen's innocent blue eyes overlapped with Daniel's, and Nikita stared fixedly off into the darkness as her tears stopped and her breathing evened.

_Soon, _she promised herself, and _soon, _she promised the watchful dead.

And then she carefully pulled back out onto the highway and towards her mission.

She pulled the 'borrowed' jeep up to one of the pumps and got out of the door, glancing quickly around for Alex. The girl came running towards her, bruised, sweaty, and dirty but with a huge, relieved smile upon her face.

Nikita smiled back and started to move towards her when a dark-colored car pulled to a screeching stop just behind her protégé. She quickly ducked behind one of the gas station's pillars as she heard Michael's voice yell, "Alex" as he barreled out of the car and moved towards the exhausted recruit.

Nikita rolled her eyes, she did _not _need this right now, and moved swiftly and silently up and over a tracker trailer that moved slowly passed Michael's car and then parked nearby. She was close enough to hear the conversation, as well as positioned behind Michael in order to stop him when he tried to take Alex back to Division.

As she was considered officially 'dead' to Division, she was hoping she wouldn't need to reveal herself to Michael and so come to their attention again so quickly.

She heard both Michael's and Alex's raised voices as she moved but she couldn't make out any individual words until she heard Alex ask, somewhat fearfully, "What's going to happen to me when I go back?"

Nikita, gun drawn, edged over until she could see them both, standing by an anonymous Division car. Michael's hands were around Alex's upper arms, his face bent until he was on a level with hers – trying to reassure a frightened young girl.

"Look, we'll make this right. I'm not gonna let 'em do anything to you," his voice was low, controlled and soothing and Alex's eyes were desperately fixed upon his face, wanting to trust him but still unsure. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

Alex's head dropped a bit in relief, and Michael stared at the top of her bent head, as though trying to find something. Nikita realized that he looked tired, that there were lines on his face that she was sure hadn't been there the last time she's run into him, and which she could spot even from this distance.

And then Michael said, "I'm not gonna lose you too," and Nikita felt her heart drop all the way into her stomach. All of his emotions, and all of his pain, were right there in his voice, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who Michael was talking about, as he tried to convince Alex to trust him.

Michael obviously feared she was dead.

And it was slowly killing him inside.

Nikita quickly turned away from them both, her heart pounding in her chest, which had suddenly too tight.

She hadn't ever believed that he still cared for her like that.

She blinked rapidly, her mind going furiously over their past encounters. She had always known that he'd had a soft spot for her, since her very first days inside Division. She'd even believed, long ago, that he'd loved her.

And then he had pushed her away.

Michael was so hard to read sometimes, and she'd thought that whatever feelings he might have had for her were long gone. Of course he was still Michael, still the protector, still protecting her …

Maybe that should have told her something.

Nikita didn't hear Michael and Alex leave.

She'd been in love with Michael for what felt like forever. She'd tried to bury it, tried to forget, try to crush it under her love for Daniel, but it was ever-present and an intangible part of her very make-up it seemed. Her legs were shaking as she leaned against the side of the truck.

_Michael doesn't change, _she reminded herself. She'd seen this in him from the very beginning. He was still a soldier at heart, still honorable, still loyal, still trying to do what was right. Ten years in Division and she still saw the real Michael inside him, saw that part of him that just couldn't be corrupted, no matter how deep he went into the darkness of the shadow world.

His loyalty to his murdered family, to his country, to _her, _had never changed.

He was so strong.

And as Nikita slowly made her way to the stolen jeep and drove off, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her. The all-encompassing pain of Daniel's death was still there, but a numb ache in the background, present but no longer controlling her.

Her heart felt immeasurably lighter; it felt as if she could breathe.

Nikita hadn't realized how much she'd been trying to forget Michael until this moment. If she had been into clichés she would have said something about dark rainclouds and a single band of sunlight, but as it was she only knew that for the first time in a long, long while, she finally felt something like hope.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from **_**Nikita. **_**Totally overwhelmed and really, REALLY angry with real-life lately. It's a testament to how much I love y'all that you're getting this little, baby update ;) Takes place during and after 1x13. As you all might have noticed, I like having Michael and Nikita either drunk or asleep/unconscious. I feel like it's one of the only times they show their vulnerabilities to one another; the bread and butter of fanfic writers. This is for all my lovelies who enjoy jelly-Michael.**

_A Kiss in the Night_

_"Has he asked about me?"_

_ ~ Nikita to Alex, about Michael_

He followed her.

Then again, he _always _followed her.

If Nikita really dug deep into what made her an individual, she would have admitted to herself that she _enjoyed_ the fact that Michael was always so persistent in going after her. It made her feel special and she _liked _feeling special when it came to Division's second in command. She'd always liked the idea that she mattered more to Michael than every other recruit – than any other person….except Kasim….and Elizabeth and Hayley.

It was petty to be jealous of the dead.

And she didn't really want to spend her time remembering things.

She had come to this place to forget so, with an adorable tilt to her chin that Michael would have found irresistible if had been there, she raised her glass for the bartender to fill it again. She downed it at once and waved it provocatively under his nose until he re-filled it. When she merely repeated her previous movements – gulp, wave – he raised an eyebrow before setting the bottle before her and moving back along the bar towards other costumers. He was an old friend, even though they hadn't seen one another in several years.

"Damn straight," Nikita muttered. "I'm Asian and Irish, probably…actually I'm not sure. Maybe I'm part Russian. But anyway I can damn well hold my alcohol." And with a determined nod to herself, Nikita dug into the bottle with gusto. "Put Michael to shame every time….." she paused as she remembered that she didn't want to think about Michael.

Thinking about Michael only reminded her that he was still absolutely furious with her.

"Some prince, huh," she snorted aggressively, causing the overweight, tired looking man to her left to give her a wary look and put some distance between them. "Wouldn't even _negotiate _with the love of his life…..bastard." She scowled ferociously into her glass.

"You know, talking to yourself is a sign of insanity," came an attractive, masculine voice from her other side. Nikita turned and glared balefully at the youngish man lounging next to her along the bar.

"Actually," she informed him frostily, "it's a sign of _genius _and if you say that they're the same thing, I will tell you that it's also a sign of a very pissed off woman who will then punch you in the face."

The young man back away quickly and Nikita turned back to her drink and her aggravating thoughts until she heard a quiet snicker from the overweight man still on her left. She glared at him too for good measure.

He smiled pleasantly at her, somewhat defeating the purpose of her glare and leaving her feeling disgruntled. "I'd hate to be whoever put you in such a bad mood," he told her, "Sounds like he did something pretty terrible."

"Whoever said it was a he?" she prevaricated. Then she turned back to her internal reflections. "I doubt he would even notice if he _did _do something terrible to me." She paused a moment before reluctantly smiling. "I suppose that trying to kill me ought to count as terrible, but somehow…not so much." Another pause. "Not compared to him not even _listening _to me." She fell silent.

The man beside her wisely said not a word.

_Several Hours Later_

Michael was at home, eating a late dinner when his cellphone rang from a number he didn't recognize. He answered brusquely, "Michael."

He heard loud conversation, some sort of sports game on the television and the clinking of glasses. "Hello? Hello?...is this Michael."

Michael, somewhat annoyed, shouted back an affirmative. The voice was vaguely familiar and he was trying to place it. "Who is this?"

"You're still in her phone," the other shouted back. At the apparent lack of recognition he continued. "You know, that woman you were with a couple times? Long legs, dark hair…totally_ hot._ It's been years since I saw her, but she came back tonight…what was her name again?"

"Nikita," Michael said, grimly.

"Yeah, that's it…..well, I think she needs a ride home tonight!"

"Wait, what? What's going on?"

"Just come and get her, ok man? _The Docks Bar & Grill. _You remember where that is?"

"I remember."

Michael through on a sweater, dark green and warm, and swiftly made his way outside and to his car. He made it to _The Docks_ with only three wrong turns despite the years that had passed since he'd been there. Pushing open the doorway he heard Nikita's laughter right away – bright and charming, but somehow false like the clanging of brass bells; the sound she always made while on missions and undercover. Fake laughter.

He shoved people aside until he spotted her, weaving unsteadily upon insanely tall heels, drink in one hand, as she leaned uncomfortably close to one of the men hanging around. She was smiling and flirting with him and the man, far from minding, was winking at his buddies.

An older, heavy weight man was trying to tug Nikita away from him. She evaded both their grasps and draped herself over the man next to him.

Michael felt a brief moment of unwilling amusement tug at his lips. Nikita always did get grabby when she was drunk.

Then one of the men reached over and grabbed Nikita's ass, and Michael wasn't amused any more in the slightest. The man bent down and obviously whispered something very rude to her from the way that she pulled back from him and, even drunk as she was, narrowed her eyes as though contemplating the best way to deck him.

Michael got there first.

The man never knew what hit him. One second he was thinking he'd get lucky tonight, and the next a slender young man had him by the throat, laid out backwards against the bar. Easily 200 lbs., the man didn't even attempt to resist. The wind was completely knocked out of him and there was something so merciless, so cold, about the man's green eyes, that he froze staring up at him.

"Don't ever touch her, again." The man's tone was measured, even and utterly emotionless.

"Hey, man," one of the guys with him spoke up, "we were just having a bit of fun…"

Michael whirled on him and the man hastily took a step back. Nikita tugged at his arm. "Come on Michael, we _were _just having some fun. Loosen up a bit, join us….." She tried to twirl with him, but his hand grabbed her arm, stilling her.

"We're leaving," he told her.

She twisted and avoided his grasp. "No, we're not." The noises of other partiers moved around their little circle, but the sounds of their merriment refused to penetrate the strained silence within.

"_Yes, _we are!" He started to drag her towards the exit. He was not in a good mood.

"Michael!" Nikita protested, half-heartedly trying to pull away from him.

"Hey!" the bartender called, not liking the way this Michael was treating the dark-haired girl. He'd called him because he'd thought he was a friend, but things looked to be getting out of hand. He moved around the counter and blocked Michael's path. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

Without a seconds hesitation Michael drew his sidearm and pointed it square into the man's face. "Move."

The heavyset man who'd been sitting next to Nikita for the majority of the evening took this moment to sidled up to her, out of Michael's line of sight. "Are you alright with him?" he asked her quietly.

Nikita, remarkably lucid for all the drinks she'd consumed, smiled happily. "Michael would never hurt me," she told the man, a little too loudly. Michael's startled gaze swung back towards her. "Are we going?" she asked him, now tugging _him_ out the door.

She stumbled off the curb outside, from a combination of drink and those incredibly tall heels. Michael automatically wrapped an arm around her waist, molding her into his side as she grabbed a hold of his sweater.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked her severely.

Nikita turned and gently buried her face in that warm sweater. "About what?" she asked. "About your number in my phone, or the fact that I got drunk on one of my old haunts?...Or that I saved your life last time?" The cold air seemed to have revived her a bit.

Michael froze at the mention of Uzbekistan and their failed mission against Kasim.

Nikita pulled slightly away from him and waved her arm out for a cab. As it pulled up beside her she turned to Michael, pulled him to her and placed a fierce kiss on his lips.

For just a moment, just a single moment, he kissed her back, hard and desperate, his breath catching in his throat, before he pulled roughly away.

Nikita's finger rose to touch her bruised lips. "I can't seem to forget tonight," she told him. "I wanted to see if it was as good as I remembered." She opened the cab door and got in as Michael stood there stunned. He shook himself after a moment; there was something he really needed to ask her.

"And was it?"

Nikita smiled flirtatiously at him. "What do you think?" she asked rhetorically, before the cab drove off.

_Better. _Michael thought, slightly annoyed by the thought. _It was definitely even better. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of **_**Nikita, **_**not the characters and not the story line. Michael's POV after they find out Nikita's run away from Division, with a little bit of Birkhoff thrown in as well. I'm really, really**__**loving Season Two, it's just incredibly epic and I adore Michael and Nikita together and all of their beautiful moments with each other. I'm trying to store up all their cute, sexy, badass moments for the bad times that are sure to come; they are star-crossed lovers after all.**

_Gone_

"She's gone. Vanished," Birkhoff told them, eyes glue to his computer screens and thus avoiding the expressions of the two men behind him.

"What do you mean by 'gone'?" Percy snapped at him.

Birkhoff flinched a bit but turned his chair the tiniest bit. Percy's cold blue gaze was fixed upon him, malevolent and calculating, and Michael…..Michael's face was perfectly blank, his eyes refusing to meet Birkhoff's at all as he remained silent in the wake of their boss's wrath.

"I mean that she's gone off the grid. She found her tracker and she's removed it, or blocked its signal or whatever she did, but she's _gone_. She's split. She's never coming back."

Percy swung away from him and looked back up at Division's monitors, at the blinking dot that showed Nikita's last known location.

Birkhoff could hear the tightly-wound, on-edge expectation of the other analysts in the room, underneath their projected aura of busy work. They all knew what this meant and they were all to a man – or woman – waiting for the explosion.

And Percy didn't disappoint them.

Over his shouting and following surge of activity as every analyst bent to the task of tracking their number one former-agent, Birkhoff looked past the apoplectic figure of the man in charge, to his second in command. Michael didn't appear to have registered Percy's anger; in fact he didn't appear to have registered anything at all. Hands loose at his side, his posture was unchanged from the moment when Birkhoff had told him that Nikita was gone.

Birkhoff frowned before quickly turning back to his work. There was something very wrong with Michael's appearance, something he couldn't put his finger on at the moment but which he knew – with increasing worry – was not good at all.

Michael, himself, was oblivious to the sudden scrutiny of Division's resident nerd.

All he could feel was pain, dull all-encompassing agony, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness that he had never thought he'd feel again after Lizzy and Hayley died. He wanted to rub his chest where it suddenly hurt, but he was confused by the pain. There was no reason for it to be so bad. There was no reason for him to care so much that he would never see her again. There was nothing between Nikita and him – they'd shared one kiss, that was all, one kiss. He'd told her about his family. And then he had pushed her away.

He'd refused to let her get close after that and she'd subsequently fallen in love with a civilian.

Daniel Monroe.

His name tasted like ashes upon Michael's tongue.

His thoughts were moving sluggishly and it was a moment before he remembered that Daniel had drowned only last week. He'd been meaning to visit Nikita and see how she was coping with his loss…..but he guessed he wouldn't be able to do that anymore.

Michael felt as though his throat was constricting, closing around the sick feeling that had risen from his stomach. He swallowed rapidly. Distantly he was aware of shouting but it refused to penetrate any further.

His thoughts kept circling back to her. The last time he'd seen her, at her apartment.

She'd been happy.

Or at least she had been until she'd seen him. Her face had closed off in a flash, only her dark eyes had still been alive; alive and full of sadness and wariness as they looked at him. He'd met Daniel, the other man's firm handshake and steady gaze infuriating him for reasons he didn't quite understand. Nikita had crossed over to Daniel's side, linking her arm through his as she leaned against his side, and Michael had felt a flash of pain so intense that he'd had to snap his eyes away from them both and begin making small talk about the weather and the state of the economy.

He hadn't stayed long.

Nikita had followed him out of the door. "Michael" she'd called after him, and when he'd turned back around he'd found her wringing her hands nervously. She'd opened her mouth as though to tell him something, or maybe even to apologize for something that she had no reason to apologize for, but then she'd obviously changed her mind. She'd given him a weak smile, "I'll report back to Division next Friday for the Shadow Mark mission."

And then she was gone.

Michael, with the clarity of hindsight, wondered now what she had been going to say to him: if she had been planning on disappearing even then…

…..with a sudden start Michael found himself wrenched back into the presence, his sudden, intent gaze upon Percy's back. The other man was still demanding answers from his staff that they were incapable of giving.

Michael hadn't thought there was anything suspicious about Daniel's death when he'd heard about it; the man had been a terrible swimmer and it had seemed like a tragic, freak-accident. But he'd warned Nikita, hadn't he? He'd warned her about what would happen to Daniel if Amanda or Percy found out about the exact nature of her relationship with the man.

Michael wanted to curse Daniel into a million tiny pieces; if not for him Nikita would still be safe, here, with him.

"I want her captured and I want her brought directly to me," Percy was ordering Roan over the phone-line. "We need to set an example that this type of thing _will not_ be tolerated in Division. You'll be handling one of the teams and Michael," Percy turned towards him, "will be handling the other."

"Her trail is still fresh, she can't have gone far," Roan said before hanging up the line.

Percy turned and examined Michael, his eyes probing for weakness. "She's betrayed us all, her country, me….you. Find her."

Michael turned to look out at the recruits training beneath him, he felt a sharp spike in the pain as he remembered watching her there, and then he was pushing it down, pushing it away. She was gone, she was never coming back and she'd never even been his to begin with. She was an asset gone rogue, that was all. She was a dangerous liability and a threat to the country. She was a former junkie, a criminal who'd killed a cop and who'd already been dead when he'd met her.

There was nothing left for him there.

Birkhoff met Michael's eyes as the other man stalked out of the room, and he shivered as he realized what was wrong. Michael's gaze was empty, blank, erased, as though whatever had made him human had vanished; as though it had gone when Nikita had left.


	9. Chapter 9

Just Moments

Disclaimer: Takes place during 2x14 and is a moment of "what if" Alex hadn't interrupted that sexy, playful bit of Mikita sparing at exactly the moment that she did. That girl's really got bad timing. Remember in 1x17 when she called Nikita just as Nikita was getting Michael to trust her at the very beginning of the episode?

Requested by my lovely friend Liis, so this is dedicated to you sweetie.

Once again, I apologize for updating after such a long absence. Unfortunately real life has taken over, so I make no promises except to update whenever I can find the time. I hope you all enjoy.

A Kiss with a Fist is Better than None

It was the scent of breakfast in the air that woke her up that morning, the sounds of pots faintly banging and the low oaths issuing from Michael's gravelly voice as he spilled things or dropped them. Drowsy and relaxed, she stretched languidly in the sunlight, reveling in this feeling of contentment and wondering faintly why it felt like this was the first good morning she'd had in a long while.

There was something different about this morning, something that she would be able to place any second now.

It only took a moment before her mind caught up with her. _Michael was back!_

Nikita had leaped out of bed and darted out to the landing before anything like rational thought had caught up with her. She peered over the top of the balcony into the kitchen area, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.

And indeed it was Michael, his sleeves rolled up and a scowl on his face as he poked uncertainly at something baking in the oven. He must have heard her, for he glanced up and caught her eyes. His lips twitched minutely as his gaze went from the top of her tousled head to her bare feet upon the cold floor.

"As you probably remember I'm a rotten cook, but I thought I'd try and make breakfast." His lips twitched again as he saw Nikita raise an eyebrow at this information. "I'm pretty sure it's edible, so feel free to try some," he told her graciously.

Nikita surveyed the chaos that he'd turned the kitchen into. "Umm hmm," she said, noncommittally. "I still remember when you almost poisoned us with those mushrooms when we were in Bulgaria."

"No mushrooms," Michael promised her.

Nikita's eyes turned back towards him. She found that she didn't want to look away half-afraid that he'd vanish on her, even as she chided herself for that ridiculous reaction. He probably noticed what she was doing, but he didn't comment; merely resting his eyes gently upon her in return.

After a minute or so of silence, Nikita said somewhat at random, "You got a haircut."

She was amused to note that Michael looked a bit flustered as he ran a hand roughly over his shorn locks. "Well, figured it was getting kind of long. Tactically, it was getting unpractical."

She snorted. "Oh Michael," she said, mirth bubbling up in her voice. "Did you really take Percy's opinion to heart!"

The echoes of that question bounced off the empty spaces of the house as both Michael and Nikita froze, each unwillingly remembering what else Percy had said to them that day. That black wave of despair that seemed to always be lurking on the edges of her life these days, made a valiant attempt to overwhelm her as a sharp stab of suspicion about Michael's real knowledge about Daniel's death swam to the forefront of her thoughts.

She violently suppressed it. "I'll just go get dressed," she mumbled, before escaping back to the bedroom.

She stood for a moment just inside the doorway looking at the empty bed. Michael had not slept beside her last night. They both decided that a bit of a break was called for between them, at least until they could figure out what was happening with Percy and Amanda and Oversight.

They'd returned late last night, Percy's escape and Operation Clean Sweep weighing heavily in their thoughts. Michael had only gotten back to the States the night before, and none of them had gotten any sleep since then. _No wonder I was somewhat shocked to realize he was still here, _Nikita thought to herself as she pulled on some workout clothes and then went down to eat breakfast.

But the joyful air and easy camaraderie between them when Nikita had first woken up was lost as each of them uncomfortably replayed Percy's words and remembered everything that lay between them.

Not for the first time Nikita realized just how hard of a person she was to have a relationship with. Too smart, too strong, too opinionated and far too broken for any guy to rationally be able to deal with her, or to want to be with her. And these days she felt far too fragile; as if she would break at any moment. And she hated that feeling.

Looking up, she watched Michael's familiar features as he concentrated on his breakfast. Always serious, her Michael. Always so stoic and meticulous and driven by duty. She felt her lips turn up fondly. She'd always felt that he loved the parts of her that were broken just as much as he loved the rest of her. He understood her, in some strange, wonderful way. He had always understood her.

She saw him wince slightly as whatever he was thinking about obviously brought him no pleasure, and she chastised herself for forgetting that in spite of his strength and his control, Michael was just as broken as she was; broken in different places, perhaps, but as lost and hurt as she.

And she found that this thought made her angry; absolutely furious that the world should have tried so hard to hurt Michael and that it was so hard for them to just be together.

Nikita stood up abruptly, her chair skidding backwards. Michael started slightly and looked up at her.

"A little sparring is just what we need this morning, don't you think?" she asked him.

And there was his Handler look back from his days at Division, as he carefully watched her face, noted the stress in her eyes and the tension radiating throughout her entire body. Nikita never had been one for sitting still.

"Yes," he agreed with her. "Just give me twenty minutes to get change and let my food digest."

Nikita's eyes lightened a bit as she mocked him, "yes, wouldn't want you to claim that a stomach ache was the _real _reason you lost to me."

And it was there again, the sparkling, snapping intensity between them as they circled one another upon the mats, fists up and excitement upon their features.

Nikita's eyes were sparkling; her lips twisted up playfully as she blocked him and then darted into his blind spot. He winced away from her; his hands already back up into guard position and his eyes watching her with warm amusement. She rushed at him again, once more scooting under his blocks and landing a blow to his side.

Michael moved back quickly, even more amused. "Forgot how good you are when you're angry," he told her fondly.

Nikita's grin was challenging as she returned, "Forgot how easy you are to beat."

If Michael were any other man he would have rolled his eyes at that comment, but he was far too used to her to take the bait. He knew that Nikita had always loved the fact that she couldn't goad him into rushing at her without thinking. He treated her fighting skills with wary caution and never seemed to succumb to the usual male response of thinking she'd be easily beaten because she was small and light.

Didn't mean she still didn't _try _to goad him though.

Michael pushed towards her once more, unsurprised when she blocked him each time. He stepped back a bit and a perfect tactic struck him. Quickly suppressing his grin he struck out at her again, letting himself get just the tiniest bit too close to her. She grabbed him and tried to throw him, but if he had been just a little too close to her, she was just a little too _far _from him. He held her too him and spun, overbalancing them both and causing them to land hard on the mats, his arm cradling her neck as he fell on top of her.

Nikita opened her eyes to find Michael's face just above her, his hands around her wrists and his grin reaching his eyes and he informed her, "nice try."

Panting, she smiled up at him. And she could feel that happiness from earlier that morning flowing through her again. _Michael's back, Michael's back, _her mind was chanting.

There was a pause as they both stared at one another, faces a handbreadth apart, memories flashing back years ago to another time when Michael had had Nikita pinned beneath him, her breath on his lips as he'd stared at hers.

And then Nikita does what she'd wanted to do all those years ago. She arches her neck as she reaches up and touches her lips to his. Michael's startled gasp is lost as he immediately kisses her back, his hand dropping her wrist as it comes up to tangle in her hair. His knee resting on the mat against her thigh, Nikita shifts until her body is pressed fully against his and as he groans at her touch, her tongue darts into his mouth and licks the sensitive area at the top of his palate.

Michael's stuttered breath at this move, the sudden shaking as his arm refuses to support his weight anymore, allows her to push up against him, rolling them both over. His free arm instantly curls around her, holding her to him tightly as he continues kissing her. After a moment though he struggles slightly and pulls away. He's gasping as he rasps out, "wait, we have to talk about this first….." but his gaze is distracted by her lips, watching in fascination as she licks them and agrees with him, "oh yes, we should….." but then he's kissing her again, his legs tangling with hers, his hand splayed on her back.

The warmth of him is driving her crazy and all she wants to do is get closer. One hand moves from his cheek, where she had been stroking it, and moves up under his thin shirt, her tiny fingers darting over his sensitized skin. His hips jerk against hers, and then she's beneath him again, his hands moving towards her sports bra, hers towards his waist.

"Nikita," he groans…..

…there is a load bang as the front door burst open. "Hey," Alex calls out before she sees them. Michael and Nikita break apart; her face glancing towards the door while he buries his in her neck trying to steady is harsh breathing. Nikita's fingers absently run soothingly through his hair as she attempts a smile at her protégé.

Alex sees them pressed intimately together upon the mats and her hot glow takes over her features as her eyes quickly dart away. Mumbling apologies, she quickly darts in another room to give them a few minutes to get composed.

Michael chuckles quietly against her neck before he pushes himself gently off of her. Nikita shivers a bit at the loss of his body heat. Before he could do more than sit back against his heels, she's followed him and pressed her lips desperately against his once more.

She pulls back just as quickly, her forehead resting lightly against his as she feels his arms gently encircle her. His ice green gaze is staring into her eyes solemnly, searching for something. "Yes," she whispers to him fiercely, shaking him a bit. "Yes," she repeats again and watches his eyes lighten the smallest amount.

And then she's up again, pulling him with her as they both go and see what Alex has to tell them.

Notes: Sorry that Alex interrupts them anyway, but I still think they have some issues to work through. Plus it's always nice to let all that tension build up until one of them is so desperate that they just grab the other person. That's what I'm really hoping happens on the show by the end of Season 2. Mikita gods, you better make it happen, lol.


	10. Chapter 10

Just Moments Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Takes place during 2x19 from Sean's and Alex's points of view. What Alex said in 2x20 also kind of informs what she tells Sean about them. So it's kind of Salex talking about Mikita lol.**

**Btw "Wrath" was a truly EPIC, amazing episode. I loved everything about it and Maggie Q was just phenomenal. Dark!Nikita is so badass. Ugh I just LOVE when Maggie and Shane have scenes together; they always play off of each other so perfectly. And that Mikita scene in the basement was just….words fail me. It was utterly right for their characters, and dark and tormented and full of love. FLAWLESS!**

**My dissertation has taken over my life, which is why I haven't updated in forever. Many apologies. And for those of you still reading my fics thank you so much and I love you all!**

**Michael's view will be up in the next chapter, and will take place after the events in the basement in 2x19.**

_Understanding_

Through the grief and the anger at his mother's death, Sean surprised himself with the flash of fear that ran through him when Michael's voice reported over the Coms that Brant had captured Nikita. He felt Alex's sudden tension beside him, heard Bikhoff frantically checking every camera looking for a potential getaway car, and knew with every second that passed that their ability to get her back was vanishing.

By the time Sean and Alex took their seats and the Minister began his sermon, Michael had quite clearly realized that they were never going to find Nikita this way, and changed tactics. Division's former second in command was utterly emotionless when he ordered Birkhoff to begin a system wide search of the area and told Alex to wait with Sean until the end of the funeral. Then he signed off the Com and there was silence.

Alex whispered, "Birkhoff, he'll be home shortly. Try and keep him calm until we get there."

Sean heard Birkhoff give a choked laugh. "Yeah right. Mikey is going to be totally up a wall. You never had to deal with him when she used to get in trouble back at Division –- "

He trailed off abruptly.

Then he suddenly snarled, "God dammit! She better not be dead. This will kill him; this will honestly kill him…." They heard him take a couple of deep breaths.

Then his voice again, studiedly calm. "I'll tell you if I find anything." And then he too was gone.

That funeral was definitely not relaxing or cathartic. Sean spent the entire time with every nerve of his screaming for him to go and find the man who had killed his mother, interspersed with a vague sense of worry for Alex who looked almost sick, as though she were imagining what was happening to her mentor while they did nothing but wait.

Birkhoff didn't call them back and Sean avoided multiple tickets as he drove back to Michael and Nikita's house well above the speed limit. They entered to find Michael in full Leader of Operations mode.

Sean had always viewed Michael as reserved to the point of unemotional – an agent capable of burying any and all issues deep inside in order to complete the mission. Whenever Sean had interacted with Michael and Nikita, it had always been Nikita who had taken lead. It was Nikita who had sat before him offering him a glass of water and trying to talk him to their side, Nikita who had decided to trust him enough to watch their backs, and then to watch Alex's back in Russia. Michael had been a silent barrier of strength at her side; someone who offered suggestions and argued when he felt it necessary, but who had essentially remained an enigma to Sean.

No hint of emotion was betrayed by Michael's face even now, but Sean could clearly read the tension in his voice and in his body language. His voice was too loud, nervous energy tightly coiled in his shoulders and arms, and he looked unable to remain still as he ordered Birkhoff to widen their search area. He looked angry but Sean had never been able to understand the relationship between Michael and Nikita, and even now he couldn't tell how concerned Michael was. Sean himself would have been yelling, unable to concentrate, filled only with the need to find her if it had been Alex would had been taken, or one of his sisters…or his mother. But Nikita wasn't any of them and Sean could remain objective. He recognized that they weren't going to find her this way.

Birkhoff looked absolutely frazzled but he was shooting concerned looks at Michael whenever he thought the other wasn't looking.

"The trail's already gone cold. We have to figure out where he would take her," Sean felt obliged to point out, wondering why the others hadn't figured this out yet.

Alex, though, was obviously thinking about something else and had apparently recognized the extent of Michael's distress. To Sean's surprise she quickly went up to Michael, reached out and lightly touched his arm, and began to offer reassurances. And then Sean was completely floored to see Michael glance at her for a split-second like a drowning man being offered a rope. It was the slightest flash across the other man's face, but Alex had quite clearly seen it and known what it meant for she tried to get Michael to focus.

"Okay, what do we know about him? His habits?"

It was the basic place to start, something Michael should have known in his sleep, and that question started to allow Sean to see how close the other was to losing it. He watched Michael with concern and thankfully Birkhoff had found a lead they could follow. Sean watched with a bit of awe as the lead, slim though it was, brought Michael back – cold concentration and lethal intent all fixed on finding this one woman.

And Sean, who had given up on finding Nikita almost as soon as she had been taken – something he would never tell Alex or the others – felt a tiny glimmer of hope in the face of Michael's unwavering resolve.

…..

It was on the car trip back to Pennsylvania, following a discrete distance behind Michael's car, that Sean decided to bring up the subject with Alex. What with one thing and another, he'd never had a chance to ask her what she thought of Michael and Nikita and Birkhoff. The several hours it would take them to get to the place where Michael was supposed to give himself up, seemed like the perfect opportunity. And, truth be told, Sean was a bit confused by it all. Everything had been happening so quickly lately, from believing anyone associated with Nikita was a traitor to the country to realizing that Division was the true traitor, and he just wanted to take a moment and understand some things. He wanted to know how Alex had realized what the truth was. He wanted to know what it was about these people that allowed them to take on what was essentially a highly-trained private army, and have said army on the defensive.

"He does know that there's a good chance that by giving himself up to Brant he'll end up dead, right?" He glanced quickly at Alex's profile as she stared out her window.

Alex's voice was suspiciously flat as she answered, "yeah, he knows."

There was silence for awhile

Sean had to ask. "So he's going there to –" he paused a bit over the words, "-die with her?"

Alex turned back to look at him and her voice was surprisingly soft as she said, "I don't think he would be able to live without her. I don't think she would be able to live without him." She turned away from him again.

"How the hell did that happen? I mean, I viewed the mission reports from last year. He spent months trying to track her down and kill her! Was he….was he on her side the entire time?"

Alex laughed a bit.

"I spent so much of last year trying to figure their relationship out, and even I don't know everything. But I do know that he was never trying to kill her."

Sean didn't say anything, willing her to go on.

She sighed next to him. "It's kind of fascinating isn't it? Their relationship? Kind of romantic, I've always thought; two hot, badass, brilliant assassins on opposing sides, trying to fight their attraction to one another."

Sean looked at her as though she were crazy.

"What?" she demanded, slightly affronted. "I _am _a girl."

"So he was in love with her while she was still at Division?"

"Yes. At least, that's what Birkhoff told me. Said that Michael was always so overprotective about Nikita since basically the day she entered the program. Said that he used to tease Michael about it whenever he had to let Nikita go off on missions alone."

There was a thoughtful pause for a moment or two.

"You know, Nikita never told me any of this before I went into Division. Anything about Michael I mean." Off of Sean's look she elaborated. "She told me that he would protect me and the other recruits the best that he could. She told me that he was always arguing with Percy about the correct way to run Division. But she didn't tell me anything about how _she _felt about him.

"I probably should have guessed though. I mean, she trained me the way he trained her. Her voice would go all fond and reminiscent whenever she would explain "Michael says this…." Or "Michael thinks that….." or "Michael would do this…..".

"I think she wanted me to make up my own mind about him, but from the very first moment I got there everyone was comparing me to Nikita. Everyone. Percy, Amanda, that creepy doctor, the weird guy who worked in psy-ops. Michael never told me I was like Nikita but he was very overprotective of me too and sometimes when I would say something or do something, he would look at me as though he'd just seen a ghost.

"The first clue that I got that there was something more between them though was my first mission. I was in this penthouse and these terrorists broke in to grab the guy I was with. The rest of the Division team was dead and Michael was fighting them and he got trapped. Nikita was on the opposite roof-top and she had one shot she could take – either to kill the guy they were grabbing or help Michael. She didn't even hesitate when it looked like Michael was in trouble. It was a hell of a shot. I remember him going over to the window after it was over and just staring out at her and thinking that everything was more complicated than I had thought it would be at first."

"So she saved him a couple times. Is that how she convinced him to trust her?"

Alex was silent for a little longer.

"The first Division mission that she foiled, Michael came back with a bullet in his shoulder."

"Wait,what? She shot him?"

Alex started laughing lightly. "Yup. She told me once, long afterwards, that the only thing she'd been scared off when she'd declared war against Division, was that Michael would be the one to kill her. She said that she confronted him on that first mission and she gave him a choice while he held her at gunpoint. He could either kill her, or let her go.

"I told her that that had been a really stupid thing to do. It had been three years since she'd last seen him, who knows how he could have changed in the meantime." Alex smiled. "Nikita always used to say that Michael was incorruptible; that Percy had never been able to take the boy scout out of him. Amanda told me once that that was why Percy made Michael his right-hand man. A good right-hand man is someone who will argue with you and whose views are different from yours.

"Anyway, Nikita said that she gave Michael that choice in the alley because if he had killed her, it wouldn't have mattered anyway because she would have lost him either way."

Sean's eyes flickered rapidly away from the road and over to Alex's face. She looked incredibly sad.

"When he let her go, she shot him in order to make sure Percy never found out how much she cared about him. I think he would have had no qualms about killing Michael if he'd ever found out they were in love.

"Michael holds her together Sean, can't you see that? He was the one who took the broken pieces of her former life and helped her rebuild herself. Percy and Amanda like to think that they did that – that they made Nikita who she is – but it was Michael. The only times I have _ever _seen her about to break, are when she thinks she's lost Michael.

"And she makes him alive. She teases him Sean. I know they haven't been very open when you're around, but let me tell you, it is adorable. She's the only one who can get away with it too. She'll say something funny or provocative and give him this little challenging look out of the corner of her eyes and he'll honest-to-god smile.

"She can get through all his detachment so easily. Even back at Division, he was always so angry at her, so intense about anything to do with her."

"So Percy never found out? How could he not see it?"

"Birkhoff didn't even see it. He thought that it was just an attraction on both their parts. He told me that he thought that up until the moment when Amanda discovered that Nikita had planted a tiny transmitter in one of his teeth."

"Wait, one of Birkhoff's teeth?"

"Um hm. She'd captured him and knocked him out and placed it there in order to throw them off my trail. Birkhoff said that Michael and Percy walked in and that when Michael heard that the mole inside Division was actually inside Birkhoff's molar he started laughing. Birkhoff said that he realized later that evening that it had been the first time Michael had laughed since Nikita had vanished three years before. And that's when he started to suspect that Michael was in love with her.

"Amanda always said that Percy never really understood Michael. That he thought Michael was more like him, and that the dalliance with Nikita had been just a dalliance. He suspected something though, because he kept testing Michael." Alex shuddered at bit at the memory. "Let's not talk about that though…..wasn't pleasant," she muttered.

"They've both lost so much and yet when they're together…they're happy. She challenges him, makes him feel alive and he's her moral center, the one person who can get through to her no matter what. They balance each other perfectly and sometimes they're so similar that it's really funny; both so stubborn and principled and tough…I never thought…I mean you read about a love like theirs, but I never thought I'd actually see it take place in front of me."

Sean heard the awe in her voice and a faint undercurrent of longing and he wanted to reach out to her; tell her that maybe, just maybe, she could have something like what Michael and Nikita obviously shared. But now wasn't the time for that conversation. They had a mission to complete.

"We can be there in ten minutes," Alex told Birkhoff over the coms as Sean hit the accelerator.

"They might not have ten minutes," the other returned, "so move." And they made it in eight.

Sean pulled over to the side of the road some ways down from 52 Willow Lane, uncertain of whether Brant would be able to spot them from the house.

As they excited the car a woman's scream rent the air, filled with anger and fear and pain, and Alex stiffened. "Nikita," she breathed. "Oh my God," and then she was hurtling down the street, Sean right beside her. The next few minutes passed in a blur. Sean kicked down the front door, scoping out corners, Alex covering his six.

They heard the fight coming from the basement and moved quickly towards the rear of the house.

And then Sean's vision crystalized, everything coming into agonizingly cold clarity. His breathing calm and steady he looked down the stairs and saw Michael tied to a chair and lying on the ground, struggling to move. He moved down, saw a huge man he knew was Brant with his arms around Nikita's neck chocking the life out of her.

There was no hesitation in him when he pulled the trigger.

Brant spun towards him at the impact and Sean fired again until the man went down. In the sudden silence he heard Nikita's gasping breaths and watched as she fell to her knees and crawled over to Michael, her shaking hands reaching for his face. He felt Alex run around him to help them. He walked slowly over to the psychopath who had killed his mother in order to hurt someone else, and looking down into those soulless eyes, Sean fired one last time.


	11. Chapter 11

Just Moments

**Disclaimer: As promised this is from Michael's point of view, just after Sean shoots Brant in the basement in 2x19. I feel like there should be some sort of order to these chapters, but there isn't. It's just whatever pops into my head, or whatever scene I've been dying to explore from a different perspective at the moment I'm sitting down to write.**

**I can't believe the season is almost over already! I'm going through withdrawal symptoms just thinking about it and I might seriously die if they don't renew it for a Season 3.**

**Btw there are a couple projects going on for Maggie Q's b-day. There's still one or two days left to enter so go on twitter or tumblr and check it out.**

_She is the Sunlight_

Nikita was injured, exhausted and her desperation wasn't going to be enough. She was far too weak to go up against Brant, and Michael realized with sudden icy fear that she was going to die right in front of his eyes.

And he couldn't reach her.

Michael's head was throbbing, he was bruised all over, and he was fighting to get his eyes to focus and his body to _move_ when gunfire split the air. Brant let go of Nikita to spin towards this new threat, and Michael twisted a bit until he saw Alex and Sean on the stairs just above him. The former Navy Seal fired several more times at point-blank range and Michael turned to watch Brant fall backwards to the ground.

Nikita's gasping breaths filled the sudden silence as she fell to the ground and crawled quickly towards him. Michael struggled against his bound hands as Alex came to cut him free and Nikita reached out to place one shaking hand on his face.

He struggled to sit up, Nikita's frantic, broken face before him, and then he had her in his arms. She was shaking, her grip around him so tight he wondered how she could even breathe, and he wasn't ever letting her go. He cradled the back of her head and after a few moments began to murmur whatever soothing phrases popped into his mind. He wasn't sure afterwards what he even said but the trembling gradually left her body. She moved slightly to bury her face in his neck.

In a distant, distracted way Michael watched as Sean and Alex reported back to Birkhoff and then erased any traces of Nikita's presence from the house.

Alex came back to him. He didn't hear what she said, but he felt her hands under his elbow as she helped him get to his feet. He refused to even consider putting Nikita down, so she lay in his arms occasionally shaking from the aftereffects of electrocution. He was still slightly dizzy from Brant's kick to his head and Alex helped push him up the stairs and out to their waiting car. He slid into the back with Nikita still held securely to him.

"We're not going back for your other car," Sean said as he drove towards the highway. "Division could have rigged it with something on the off-chance you and Nikita escaped."

Michael didn't comment. After a moment he told Alex to call the cops and report that she'd heard gunfire at Brant's house. Then he turned back to Nikita and tuned the rest of the world out.

She was half-sitting, half-lying across his lap, her head pillowed against his shoulder and her arms loose around his neck. Her eyes were open but whatever she was seeing wasn't of this world and clearly her mind was replaying things it would be best to forget.

"Hey," he said gently. Her dark eyes flickered up to his. He reached out and lightly placed his lips against her forehead. "It's gonna be alright," he told her, projecting calmness and strength and willing her to believe him. "We're going to go home and Birkhoff will fuss, and Alex and Sean are safe, and Brant is gone, forever."

His arms tightened infinitesimally. "You're gonna be alright."

She seemed to drift off a bit after that. She was both mentally and physically exhausted but she seemed more numb and unconscious than truly resting. Michael stroked her side gently as he stared out the window and willed away the traffic that congested the bridges leading back to Long Island.

His mind kept replaying what happened in the basement; Nikita's tortured eyes as she told him she thought she was evil, the way she'd lashed out at him when he all but told her he couldn't live without her, and the way she had stared at him afterwards, waiting for his reaction. She had looked so lost, gazing at him as though afraid of his answer and yet needing so badly for him to say something to make it alright.

He'd been so afraid of saying the wrong thing.

He'd thought her distance for weeks now had had to do with Cassandra and Max - that she was pushing him away because she had thought they were what he wanted, that she had been afraid of being hurt, that she had been jealous even.

And that may have been a large part, but now looking back at it, he realized she had pulled even further away from after they found Carla. Carla, who had brought back every part of Nikita's messed-up childhood and teenage years with her.

Darkness. She thought she had darkness inside of her.

Michael supposed it made some sort of sense. Nikita had always been so good at understanding and thwarting the plans of bad men. She was the best assassin Michael had ever seen and the most badass woman he had ever met. She was one of the only people Michael knew who could stay one step ahead of Percy, and Amanda had always considered her Division's greatest success.

But Michael had never considered himself a saint either. He had done many things that he regretted, just like she had.

Nikita, though, had never had an ordinary childhood. And that he supposed was the real problem for her - the fact that she had killed a cop, even a corrupt one who had shot her friend - and had been sentenced to death even before she entered Division. That, on top of being Divisions' best, meant she saw herself as some kind of monster.

Alex, looking back at them both, didn't think that Michael realized he was scowling out of the car window. He probably hadn't realized that Nikita was lying in his arms just watching his face either. As Alex watched, Nikita took one of her hands and ran her fingertips lightly across Michael's cheek startling him. She traced the bridge of his nose, over his chin and then up until she brushed across his forehead smoothing out the lines from his scowl. As though she was memorizing his features. "What are you thinking about?" she murmured to him drowsily.

"That if Roan hadn't killed Gary I would go back there and make him suffer and then kill him myself," he told her, his voice gruff.

Nikita was silent for a moment, her fingers still lightly skimming Michael's features. "As someone very wise once told me," she told him quietly, "if I didn't have Gary, I wouldn't have you."

It always amazed Michael how strong she was, and there with her lying in his arms after suffering so much today, it hit him again how remarkable she truly was. He smiled and turned his head to kiss her fingertips.

…

Birkhoff was seriously hovering when Michael carried Nikita into the house.

"Is she alright?" He craned forward to catch a closer look at her. "Oh god she looks terrible!"

Michael shot him a half-hearted glare.

"Thanks a lot, Nerd," and there was Nikita's voice, exhausted but still alive with sarcasm. "I go through hell and all you care about is how I look. Typical guy."

Birkhoff cleared his throat. "She'll be fine," was his expert medical opinion and then he hurried off to get the painkillers obviously relieved.

Michael carried Nikita up yet another flight of stairs and then into the bathroom adjoining their room. "Ok, quick shower and then sleep. It's the only thing that's going to decrease those muscles tremors from electrocution."

She was fading fast. Michael put her gently on her feet – keeping on arm around her to steady her – and quickly removed her clothing. He pulled off most of his clothing as well before turning on the water and stepping with her under the spray. She leaned against him tiredly as he quickly washed her hair and skin.

He hauled her out quickly, toweled her hair dry, wrapped her in a large fluffy shirt, pulled on clean pants himself and then crawled into bed with her. The painkillers from Birkhoff were lying on their bedside table.

As he held her close and she dropped off into exhausted sleep he knew that only time would heal some of her wounds, and others would never heal at all. But as he had told her down in the basement, with both of them waiting to die, he loved every part of her. He loved every broken piece of her. He always would. If she ever left him, he knew he wouldn't be able to go on without her.

Since the day he'd met her, she had truly made his life worth living.

**Note: Not sure if I made Michael too soft in this scene or Nikita too weak. Personally though, I feel like if I was electrocuted for hours I'd have been crying like a baby. And to everyone who reviews, I LOVE every single one of your comments so much! Thank you.**


	12. Chapter 12

Just Moments

**Disclaimer: Takes place during 1x08. Okay, so I've wanted to do this scene forever but never got around to it. I was always disappointed that Alex put that green pill for Nikita (after she was poisoned by Gogol) in Thom's pocket instead of Michael's, because I've always wanted to know **_**what Nikita would have done to get it. **_**And I've got like five or six different versions of what-could-have-been in my head, so here's one of them. I've always thought Nikita hung around so long at that party with the Senator so Michael could get a look at her in the red dress. His reaction was priceless.**

**Still excited that Nikita got renewed for Season 3. Great job Nikitaverse. You all ROCK!**

**Oh yes, I don't own any part of **_**Nikita.**_

**Possibly this moment should have a rating of M. Ye have been warned.**

_Lady in Red_

Nikita's phone beeped as she stood on the street corner waiting for her new Gogol handler Vladimir. Actually, to be completely honest, calling the man a handler was an insult to the entire profession of espionage. To Nikita he was nothing more than a low-level thug who obviously possessed all the street-sense of a newbie Division recruit. Michael wouldn't have promoted this 'Vladimir' to Agent let alone any position of higher importance.

Speaking of Michael.

Alex's words scrawled across the phone screen. "ANTI-TOXIN ON MICHAEL. LOWER RIGHT JACKET POCKET."

Vladimir pulled up to the curb.

She got into the car, ignored his pathetic attempts at flirting and concentrated on going over the plan she had come up with to both get the information she needed on Senator Kerrigan while thwarting Gogol and Division at the same time. Oh, and also while attempting to sneak a pill from the pocket of the man assigned to hunt her down, in order to stay alive. The same man who she had been in love with since she was a girl.

No biggie.

So, contrary to Vladimir's beliefs and critique about her choice of wardrobe, Nikita had planned what she was going to wear very carefully indeed.

Men were not immune to her. Nikita knew that logically – despite how she often felt – she was very beautiful. This was something she had learned very early on in life, and something which Amanda had taught her to use as a weapon. And she was pretty sure that Michael was as susceptible to her as all the rest. Perhaps even more.

She knew that he found her beautiful. Or at least she thought that he had while she was still at Division. He had always been hard to read, even for her, but she thought that was what the look in his eyes had meant, when she'd caught him staring at her a couple of times.

She hadn't seen that look from him since she'd come back.

She knew he still cared about her; he wouldn't have saved her life if he didn't. But she wasn't sure how deep that caring went. And she had never wanted to use this route to find out. She had never wanted to use her looks to try and seduce him. It didn't matter that she only needed to get him to let her close enough to slip her hand into his pocket to grab that green pill.

She had wanted him to let her close because he had joined her side. She had wanted him to care enough to believe her, to believe in her. She had wanted him to trust her.

Admittedly, her track record wasn't that great.

She'd been a criminal before she met him and a runaway junkie before that. She'd left whatever she'd had with Michael for another man. And though she would never regret Daniel, she did regret the pain that she suspected she had put Michael through. And now she was rogue, and currently working with the Russian mercenary group, Gogol.

She didn't think Michael was going to start trusting her anytime soon.

And she really needed that anti-toxin.

She sighed internally as Regal House pulled into view, and got out of the truck without a backward glance at Vladimir. Watching the guard rotations, she judged her moment carefully. She had the man get Michael outside to deal with Vladimir while she went in and got the Senator to start talking. She knew Vladimir's monitoring equipment would pick up every word that this corrupt man said.

But she still needed the anti-toxin. And she was rapidly running out of time. Ari had given her 12 hours before the toxin started liquefying her stomach and other nearby organs. But that had been this morning. She vaguely wondered if Ari had been planning to let her die regardless, given the fact that he had cut everything so close, but in the end if didn't matter. The anti-toxin was within reach. She just had to get to Michael.

And for that she needed to get Michael – and his ever-present Division henchmen – inside the Party where they would be unable to draw too much attention to themselves.

And that was where the little red dress came in.

Nikita had always loved red, and this form-fitting dress was both elegant and incredibly sexy. In between the adrenalin and fear of the situation, Nikita felt a little burst of anticipation as she pulled off her black cat-suit and guided the senator into the throng of people gathered in the front room.

She made small talk with several other Senators as she waited.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Michael prowl into the room, scanning the crowd for her. His whole body jerked when he laid eyes on her arm-in-arm with Kerrigan. And then he was coming towards her, eyes fixed on her face before unconsciously sweeping lower and then returning to her face. He looked god-smacked.

And Nikita, her own eyes unable to look away from the green of his, felt both joy and an overwhelming sense of satisfaction at his reaction.

She aimed the last part of her conversation with the Senators towards Michael. "Everyone thinks of changing the world," she told him, "but no one thinks of changing himself."

He made a visible effort to pull his gaze away from her.

"Senator, may I speak with you." It wasn't a request. His tone was filled with both respect for the senator and annoyance for her. She knew that he knew that she'd seen his reaction to her. And he resented it.

But Nikita found that tonight, on the verge of her potential death, she didn't want Michael's attention fixed on anyone but her.

"This is the bodyguard you mentioned?"

His eyes snapped back to hers, and she saw amusement in them now. "Bodyguard?" he questioned her, voice dry.

"The one who served his country," she told him, her voice suddenly fierce. She needed him to understand this. "True patriot."

She wanted him to known that this was how she saw him. She wanted him to think about patriotism, while in the presence of all these Senators – corrupt though some of them undoubtedly were – and then think about what he was doing with Division.

"Oh, where'd you serve son?" one of the Senators asked him.

Michael shook his head as though waking from a daze and tried to pull his eyes away from her again, and answer the question.

"Uh, all over. Middle East, mostly."

He looked back at her and Nikita tipped her head slightly to one side of the room, before glaring at Michael's Division goons. He got the message. "Aronsky's father served in Vietnam," he told the Vietnam-vet Senator, pointing towards one of the goons. "Excuse me a moment," he murmured and then waving at his men to stay with the other Senators, he followed Nikita and Kerrigan a few steps away.

"What." He snapped at her.

Nikita's mind was moving at lightspeed to try and make this all work. "Kerrigan and I" – here she waved at the still silent Senator whose arm remained linked with hers – "are going to take a little walk towards the front door. You keep your men away from us, I get in the car outside and drive away, and Kerrigan here gets to live." Michael looked a bit unconvinced. "I hand him over to you and only you. Tell your goons to wait in this room. They move towards me, the Senator's going to regret it."

Michael gave the order.

Nikita, trying to brush close to Michael in the press of people, began to make her way with Kerrigan towards the foyer and the front door. Nikita was beginning to feel a little dizzy, and Michael remained elusively out of reach.

Michael remained a few steps ahead of them as they struck out across the foyer, which was thankfully only sparsely filled with people. They were half-way across when the pain struck, abruptly and without warning. The champagne glass fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor as she doubled over.

Michael had turned at the sudden noise. His face was blank as he watched her.

One more second was all it took. The next wave of agony hit and Kerrigan, obviously sensing his moment, pulled away from her and escaped.

Nikita, every muscle in her body screaming in pain, let out a quiet moan and fell towards the floor.

And then Michael was there.

He was kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders to keep her upright, as he looked into her face. "Nikita, what the hell is going on?" he asked her, and she could hear concern; sweet, glorious concern all for her.

The pain was driving her mad, her head was spinning, but she fought to focus. Dropping her head a bit, her hands reaching for him, Michael finally pulled her closer until she was in his arms. "Gogol…..poison…" she got out through gritted teeth, head against his chest and hands fisted around his suit jacket. She brought her head up a bit and rested it against the curve of his neck. Feeling his shiver against her body, the sudden tightening of his arms, her left hand darted down into his pocket, smoothly retrieving the anti-toxin pill. "Hurts….."

She dropped the pill down the front of the cleavage of her dress.

She heard Michael curse, and then he swung her up in his arms. "This is Michael," he spoke into his com, "Nikita's given me the slip but I still believe she's on the premises. Search every room on the ground floor. I've got the second floor."

He ascended the staircase quickly, Nikita still in his arms, and entered one of the rooms placing her on the couch. He shut the door.

The pain was getting worse, if that was even possible. Nikita tried to focus; there was something important she had to tell Michael.

His hands were one her face, turning her towards him. "Nikita, focus," she heard his voice say. "Focus." She fought to see his green eyes. "Tell me what poison it was."

In between gasping breaths she got out, "Kalitrol…anti-toxin stole from…..Vladimir…..here…." and she began to move her shaking hands towards the front of her dress.

Any other situation and Nikita would have laughed her ass off at the expression on Michael's face. She would swear later that he actually turned red as he contemplated the prospect before him. His hands were oddly hesitant as they reached out and slipped down the front of her dress, skimming lightly over her breasts as he felt for the pill.

The feel of his cool, slightly callused fingertips ghosting over skin fought with the pain coursing through her and caused Nikita to moan softly again, this time for a different reason. She heard Michael's breathing stop, his hands still for a moment, as she looked up into his eyes and he looked down into hers.

And then his fingers moved again and found the anti-toxin. One arm came up to cradle her head as he helped her to sit up, and the other pressed the pill to her lips.

She swallowed.

His fingers lingered by her lips for a split-second longer before he stepped away from her. "You'll live," he told her before leaving to conduct a mock-sweep of the rest of the rooms on the second floor.

Nikita remained on the couch, getting her breathing under control and feeling the pain gradually subsiding as the anti-toxin did its job.

Nearly twenty minutes passed before she felt well enough to contemplate moving. She wanted to get back to Vladimir's SUV and retrieve the recording of Senator Kerrigan's confession, but she was unsure if Division had cleaned up the evidence yet.

She had just made a move to swing her legs onto the ground when Michael re-entered the room. He was back to calm, cold control again as he approached her. Clinically he reached out and placed a hand on her stomach. "Any lingering pains or feelings of discomfort?" he asked her, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her midriff.

"No," Nikita replied, looking down with some bemusement onto the top of his head. He was so close to her, and his hair looked so soft, and if she just reached out her hand the slightest bit…..

She clenched her fist and fought the temptation. _Bad Nikita, _scolded herself. _Things are complicated enough as it is! _

"I don't think you should suffer any lingering effects from the Kalitrol." He stood up then and loomed over her with a disapproving expression. "But you cut it awfully close, Nikita," he said, frowning.

Nikita tried to repress a smile but she suspected she failed when Michael's frown grew more foreboding. "Wasn't sure of the exact time of the injection," she said flippantly. She stood up and moved with deliberate casualness around him and towards the door. He took one quick step to the side and blocked her, arms folded over his chest.

"You think I'm just going to let you walk out of here?" he asked her. "After you threatened a US Senator?"

Nikita tilted her head to the side and stared up at him for a second, seeing the familiar lines and planes of his features, watching the expression in his green eyes as he stared at her.

"Yes," she told him, with absolute conviction and then, startling him, she darted close and pressed her lips lightly against his cheek. "Thank you, Michael," she breathed against his skin, feeling his breath catch in his throat.

And then she was out the door, running lightly down the stairs, leaving behind a faint scent of perfume and a somewhat stunned Michael who still bore the memory of the faint tingle of her lips as she fled.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Many apologies for the incredibly long delay since the last update. I was consumed by my dissertation and afterwards I never wanted to write another word of anything ever again. Thank NaNoWriMo for getting me back in the mood for storytelling!

This idea has been banging around in my head for about a year now. It was based on something that Percy told Alex about Michael and Nikita in 2x06, and I think it came out rather well. Let me know what you think. Takes place during Nikita's first year at Division.

Oh and OMG isn't the new season of Nikita awesome so far?!

**Vitality **

"_It was a question of vitality – and vitality meant life, and life meant necessity, and that was why love was like an instinct for survival…..It was not a question of being self-sufficient or independent, it was about people who were necessary to each other. Neither of them was particularly attractive. Half the time they drove each other mad. But there it was. Necessary."_

_~ Maya's Fics_

"If I don't see immediate improvement she gets a bullet in the brain, and you will be the one to put it there."

Percy looked characteristically smug and overbearing as he oh-so cavalierly informed Michael of the recruit Nikita's impending appointment with Death.

Michael kept his face impassive as he nodded and then left Percy's office. The words _What a bastard, _clamored to be heard from the sarcastic part of his brain he had named his Inner Birkhoff, after Division's new sarcastic Head Tech. For probably the millionth time he asked himself why he was working for such man, a man who could order the death of a young woman without the slightest hesitation and even with enjoyment. And then, as always with a sharp pain that almost left him breathless, he remembered that he had nothing else, nothing he could go back to. Everything he had had was gone. Ruthlessly he pushed the rising panic down and walked stiffly from Percy's office, to the elevator and then up Ops and the square inside arena where the recruits trained.

He leaned against the railing and watched them spar for a while, letting his mind move in slow spirals of thought. One thing that he'd learned from Naval Intelligence that had been the most beneficial for a life in Division, was that pushing at thoughts never worked. Letting the mind drift in calm contemplation would allow connections that had previously eluded him to form. It was something that he tried to teach the recruits and something that Nikita had the most difficultly with. She was not a calm person. Amanda always said that the girl ran on anger.

He sighed. His thoughts kept circling back to Nikita, but they weren't offering a solution to the dilemma he now found himself in. There was a death sentence hanging over that troublesome girl and Michael had no idea how to break through all of the girl's hardened layers and make her understand that she had only two options; cooperate or die.

After a time one of the mid-level trainers had obviously gone to fetch Nikita for he came back hauling the recalcitrant girl roughly after him. Nikita's chin was up, teeth gritted and dark eyes flashing as she stubbornly dug her heels into the ground and fought the man every step of the way.

Pulled down the stairs to the mats past Michael, she made sure to shoot him a ferocious glare for good measure, as though to make sure he knew that she wasn't softening. Michael was sure that if she'd been only a little younger she would be folding her arms and stomping her foot.

He felt his lips involuntarily twitch at the image, and then silently scolded himself for viewing a recruit as a petulant teenager. Although sometimes…

Nikita was now glaring at him suspiciously, obviously having noticed the brief moment of mirth Michael had indulged in.

"What's so funny?" she snapped belligerently.

None of the other recruits or trainers halted in their activities, but Michael got the distinct feeling that suddenly the attention of the entire room had redirected to focus on the two of them.

Nikita stood in the middle of one of the mats, her body turned confrontationally towards Division's second in command. Another mid-level trainer was trying to get her attention in order to spar with her.

Michael gave her a stern look. He really wished she could be more cooperative. This was definitely not the time for more of her insubordinate attitude. He offered a silent prayer up that Percy was still ensconced in his office with Amanda.

"Have I said anything was funny, Nikita?" he asked her levelly. He waved towards the man in front of her. "Get back to work." He turned away without giving her time to reply with more angry words. Hopefully even she wouldn't want to pick a fight that badly.

He went to Ops. Birkhoff had everything under control. As he was repeatedly told.

Michael found himself drawn, against his will, back to the clear window that looked out over the recruits. His gazed narrowed on Nikita. Folding his arms and frowning, he tried to come up with a way, yet again, to save her life.

Nikita wasn't paying any attention to the trainer. Arms crossed, foot tapping, she was the picture of bored rebelliousness. Michael took in the slight figure, the high cheekbones, the tiny, exquisite features of her face and the silky dark hair that had recently been cut and now hung only shoulder length. Michael approved of the haircut; the disheveled mess she'd sported before hadn't done her any justice. _She is beautiful, _he thought dispassionately. _She is intelligent, and physically fit. She would make an excellent spy. _

But she never listened.

Michael was all for independence of thought and action, but he knew that there are times when you _must _listen to the orders you were given or you would end up dead. Or worse, inadvertently getting other people killed. But Nikita never listened to anything or anyone.

This train of thought was getting him nowhere. Sighing again he wondered bleakly if the girl would drive him mad. She certainly seemed to be on a course to do so.

"You okay over there, Michael?" came Birkhoff's voice from behind him. The head tech was still fairly new, and his voice was a bit hesitant as though he were unsure how closely he was allowed to inquire into the well-being of Percy's right-hand man.

"Fine, just fine," Michael muttered back.

He looked out at Nikita again. Taking advantage of her arrogance and inattention, the trainer had thrown a surprise punch straight towards her face. She twisted, just barely missing it, and swung wildly at the man's face. He blocked her easily and grabbed her one-handed around the neck.

Nikita had obviously not paid attention in that class for instead using her arm to hit his elbow allowing her to be released from the choke she instead swung wildly at his face, catching the guy in the left eye.

Michael was out of Ops and half-way across the training room.

She again went for the ball shot with her leg. The man dropped to the ground, dragging her with him and she fell on him scratching and, when that failed, biting viciously until he finally let her go.

The other trainers were almost upon her when she went to kick the man when he was down, and then Michael was there. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, his chest to her back, and hauled her back from the man.

She kicked out wildly against him but it had no effect. He could feel the anger, the tension and even the fear thrumming violently through her body, and under it was a wild defiance of everything that caused her to refuse to submit no matter what. He bent close to her ear, his voice rough. "Nikita, stop. Stop."

She froze.

There was a brief silence where the only sound was Nikita's harsh breaths. Michael kept his arms tight and restrictive. The other recruits, sure now that there would be no show, turned back to their previous activities. The other trainers were helping Nikita's unfortunate teacher up and off towards the infirmary.

Michael, thinking fast, interjected a small note of amusement in his voice and kept his tone even and calm. "We don't kick our sparring partners when they're already down on the ground," he informed her. "Although when you are in the field that is a perfectly valid move."

There was absolutely no sign of a lessoning of tension in Nikita's body. She held herself stiffly, as far away from him as his tight hold allowed. And she didn't reply.

"I'm going to let you go now, Nikita," Michael informed her. "And then I think you've had enough sparring for today."

Her hands tightened roughly around his arms as though she would answer or fight him, but in the end she did neither.

He let her go gently.

As soon as his arms were loose enough she all but jumped away from him, spinning around as though ready for an attack. Michael took a slow, non-threatening step back from her and kept his stern, serious gaze fixed on her face.

"I think that you still have computer work to do today," he informed her mildly.

He kept his cool gaze fixed on her eyes, informing her that this was not a request. Her brown eyes were wild and angry and filled with darkness, and Michael felt a small twinge of something that might have been sympathy or empathy. Some sense of commiseration.

And something in his cool eyes must have reached her, for the darkness settled a little and the anger was shoved down as she nodded to him. Still without a word, she moved around him and headed towards the computer lab.

And Michael, sitting on his couch late that night and eating a microwave dinner, realized that there was no pity in what he had felt for Nikita that afternoon. There had been sympathy and frustration and exasperation and even a bit of admiration at her defiant spirit, but there had been no pity for the broken, defensive spirit he had seen in her eyes. She was too strong for pity. She was too alive for pity.

In fact she was the most alive person that Michael could remember meeting. She was vibrant, that was the word. There was something in her presence – some sort of anger or spirit or perhaps only sheer bloodymindedness – that made her unforgettable.

Every time Michael saw her, he felt an urge to either shout her into order or laugh at her continued insubordination and insolence. But every time he undeniably felt something.

And with a sharp plunge as all his thoughts finally lined up, Michael realized that he was having such a hard time accepting Percy's order for Nikita's termination because she made him feel alive. It was entirely unconscious on her part, Michael thought, and if she ever learned of that fact it would probably mean absolutely nothing to her. But there it was.

Michael had moved through life in a fog after Elizabeth and Hayley's deaths. Everything had felt unreal as though it were happening to someone else. But Nikita was too real for that. The annoyance she caused Michael was too real to be happening to anyone but him.

He wondered if there wasn't something really ironic about the fact that it was the most troublesome recruit he had ever come across who had made him feel something for the first time in years.

He slept on it.

He waited the entirety of the next day, until after Percy had gone home. He'd ignored the other man's pointed looks, and Amanda's incisive, interrogative glances. When they both left and the recruits had been returned to their rooms until lights, out Michael walked down the hallway and knocked lightly on Nikita's door.

Without waiting for a reply, for recruits weren't allowed any privacy, he entered her room.

In defiance of everyone, and because she hadn't received any prizes for anything yet, Nikita hadn't filled her room with any of the objects that other recruits usually did. Her walls were bare of posters, her side table was empty and her bed was plain. In fact, besides the furniture, Nikita was the only thing in the room.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed doing what looked to be some type of Yoga pose.

Michael came into her room and closed the door behind him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, acidly.

Michael felt it again, that weird protective instinct he had for her, that feeling of almost-fondness. She just never relented did she? Fight to the bitter end and all that.

He decided to word what he was about to say carefully. _Keep it short and to the point, _he told himself. "There is something that I would like to show you," he told her calmly, projecting professionalism into his voice. "Would you come with me?" And he stood aside and gestured her towards the door.

He eyed him warily.

"Why do we have to do this now, after everyone else is already in their rooms?"

"Because I have to get you to listen. Because if you don't Percy has ordered your termination." Michael was blunt and he could see that it shocked her. "Because I am asking you to trust me."

Nikita still looked wary so Michael ended with, "Then trust me just enough to come and listen to what I have to say."

She unfolded herself slowly and preceded him out the door.

The halls were empty, and silent except for the ever-present hum that was Division itself. Nikita kept pace with Michael as they walked to the elevator and once inside she turned to him. That constant wariness still lurked at the back of her eyes but Michael could see a hint of curiosity mixed in with it now as she looked at him.

"Why are you suddenly treating me like I'm a real person?"

Michael made sure to keep his expression cool and enigmatic. He wanted to impress upon Nikita that there was a chain of command that she had to follow if she was to survive this place, but more than that what he was about to do was going to force him to talk about his past. There was no way this was going to be a comfortable experience and Michael only hoped he could get through it without opening old wounds. For either of them.

"I always treat recruits like they're real people, Nikita." It had not escaped his notice that she had never once in all her months here said his name. Amanda had impressed upon him that this was a type of defensive reaction from Nikita, a way to dehumanize the people around her and minimize the contact she was forced to have with them.

He didn't know whether she was doing so in order to protect herself, like people who had been abused often did, or whether it was due to her anger at the place and her resolve to be as difficult as possible in order to get them to give up on her. With a brief stab of something that felt very much like anger of his own, Michael wondered how many people had just given up on Nikita over the years.

Well, giving up was as unfamiliar to Michael as it appeared to be unfamiliar to Nikita.

They excited the elevator on one of the lower levels and Michael walked along until them came to a door he was quite familiar with. He opened it and went through first, expecting Nikita to follow him which she did after a brief hesitation.

He watched her look around and take in the open space with separate booths and the paper targets pin up and barely visible in the dim glow of Division's lights.

"Yes," he answered her unspoken question, "it's the shooting range. Almost no one comes down here, except me. They prefer the simulated targeting range Division has set up and that's all inside computers nowadays." He shot her a small smile, hoping she would relax a bit. "I'm an old fashioned sort of guy. I prefer something a bit more real." He walked over to one of the cabinets and took out several mags of general .9 millimeter rounds. "So much of our lives are illusions that it's always good to have something real. To know that when you fire this weapon you are really going to hit someone."

He walked back over to her.

"The shooting range offers a bit more responsibility and having a gun is all about responsibility."

Michael fluidly and unhesitatingly drew his sidearm and held it out to her. He knew her background and temper. He held his breath unnoticeably as she took it from him gingerly. When all she did was glance back up at him looking shocked and a bit overwhelmed Michael continued. "Do you know how to load and unload the cartridge?"

At the shake of her head he proceeded to show her.

Slowly drawing her over to one of the booths, he made her put the safety on the weapon, "the safety is always on unless you are going to shoot someone," he told her sternly.

Now came the really hard part.

Michael took a deep breath and looked out vaguely over the room as he tried to organize his thoughts. He could feel Nikita next to him. For once her presence didn't give off a sense of barely suppressed fury and tensions. She seemed almost mellow as she waited for him to speak.

"I was military before I was Division," he told her finally, the words coming out in a great burst. He could feel the shades of Elizabeth and Hayley hovering over his shoulders. "My family was adamantly against it. We lived in a small town and weren't exactly what you would call well-off. They wanted me to go to state college, get a good job, and marry my high school sweetheart."

_Well, at least he'd done the last, _Michael thought, surprised himself at the bitterness he still felt even after all these years, _even if it didn't turn out at all how he had wished. _

"There was no money for me to go anywhere else but state university, but I had wanted to join the military as an officer ever since I was a boy and I was determined despite everyone telling me there was no way I could do it."

Michael glanced at her then, expecting the confusion he see in her face. The kids that Division recruited often had trouble grasping why anyone would want to volunteer for military service if they had any kind of choice.

"I believe in this country," Michael told her, unaware that his voice was suddenly intense, his eyes alive in a way that turned their normal pale green to a deeper emerald color in his passion. "I believe in what it stands for. It has given so much to me, to my family, and to the world."

Nikita opened her mouth to protest.

Michael held up a hand, preventing her. "I never thought it was perfect. No country run by human beings could be. But it is the idea of America that I believe is perfect. And I wanted to give something back to the country, and the idea, that had given me so much. I wanted to do my duty."

"And did you get in?" Nikita asked, her eyes strangely intent on Michael's face.

His eyes suddenly flickered away from her, remembering with crystal clarity the celebration Elizabeth and his mother had thrown him in honor of his acceptance. She had looked so very beautiful and happy that day…

…Nikita's dark eyes were filled with something that Michael couldn't place. He cleared his throat.

"I got into Annapolis. Full scholarship."

"So you're a sailor then?" There was something in Nikita's tone, something that was almost humorous as though she knew a hundred sailor jokes and was contemplating informing him of them at a later date. It was a tone that almost bordered on teasing.

Michael, startled a bit, said, "I was always really good at languages. I was sent out west to learn Arabic and became a Naval Intelligence Officer."

"And did you like it?" Nikita actually sounded interested.

Michael swallowed, memories of walking through foreign cities hand in hand with Elizabeth rising back up to the surface. "I loved it," he told her hoarsely.

There was a pause, as if Nikita were trying to understand the sudden change in his voice.

"And now you're Division." The sourness had returned to her tone.

Michael ruthlessly shoved Elizabeth's ghost away and rebuked himself for almost forgetting the task at hand. "Being Division is an honor."

She snorted. Michael ignored it.

"Just like the gun you are still holding in your hands, Division is a weapon. In this case it is a weapon that no one else will ever be aware of. Its purpose is as necessary. Division is the first defense to protecting this country; to protecting the world. The life we have is dedicated to making sure that normal people can go on living their lives, that they never have to witness what we have to learn about human nature, that the evil that exists in this world will not touch them."

Michael ended there. He had never liked rousing speeches. He felt instinctively that they were trying to sell you something that wasn't true. He distrusted salesmen for precisely that very reason. He hoped that what he had said would be enough to get her to understand how he felt. What he saw.

Nikita looked away from him at last. She put the gun back down gingerly on the table before her. She fiddled with her hands. "But _I _did not choose," she said at last. "You are _forcing _me to do this, to become someone who has to see more darkness to protect people who never gave a flying _fuck _about me!"

"You did choose." Michael was inexorable. "It was your choices that caused you to end up on death row. You _chose _to fire the weapon."

"It wasn't that simple!"

"It never is."

Nikita looked back up at him. Her eyes were dark and remorseful and desperate. It was the first time that Michael had ever seen desperation from her. Or remorse. "I never wanted any of this," she said, her voice low.

"No," Michael agreed. He had never wanted this life, in Division, without Elizabeth and Hayley, either. "But now you have two choices before you. Only two. You can choose to continue on the path that you're on now. You'll refuse to learn what Division is trying to teach you and Percy will order your cancellation." He swallowed quickly. "And _I _will be the one forced to do it."

Their gazes were locked, brown on green, both dark and full of pain.

"Or," Michael continued after a moment, "you can get through the program. You can do something with your life that will, maybe, make up for the choices that brought you here in the first place." His tone implied that it was not only Nikita who was given the chance to make up for old wrongs.

Nikita looked like she wanted to ask Michael what his _choice_ would be if Percy ordered him to kill her. Michael hoped she didn't ask that question of him. He hoped he would never be forced to choose between his country and her. He hoped that _she_ would never make him choose. There was something about Nikita though that convinced him she liked the tough questions. There was something about her that was vital to him. He was resigned to the fact that even if he did manage to save her life today, she would never be easy to get along with. She would never be easy to protect.

She would probably drive Michael crazy a hundred times a day. He felt a faint stirring of anticipation at the thought.

The lightening of his eyes must have been noticeable to Nikita for she took a step closer as though she would accept his offer. Michael decided to make it easier for her.

"I'm fairly certain you were told for much of your life, like me, about all of the things you couldn't do." He picked up his gun and handed it back to her. "Now I'll tell you that the first time I was brought to a shooting range I only managed to hit the target on the sixth try." He shot her a grin and watched, with faint bemusement, as her eyes widened and she turned faintly red and avoided his eyes. "I _dare _you to do better," he finished triumphantly.

If anyone had told him then that he looked suddenly ten years younger and full of mischief, he would not have believed them. But Nikita saw it.

"We'll see about that," she informed him tartly, taking the weapon and following Michael's directions as he placed her body in the proper position to shoot.

She hit the target on her fifth try. "Would you look at that, Michael," she crowed triumphantly and teasingly. She had said his name.

"Gold Star," Michael told her.

And Nikita smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from **_**Nikita **_**and everything written here is done so only in admiration and respect.**

**Inspiration! I really love me some angst and after 3x08 **_**Aftermath **_**I just couldn't resist writing this from Michael's point of view. It's not very logical – or rather the logic is hidden beneath emotion and all disjointed – because Michael's a complete mess at the moment, but he was just so amazing tonight and trying so hard to do the right thing that I wanted to get inside his head for a bit.**

_**Just Moments – Chapter 14**_

_Walls_

His room at Division was just as he'd left it the last time he'd used it, back when Percy had still been in charge.

Back when he'd still had both hands.

The trip back to Division after their failed mission had been unreal, numb. All he could remember was that Nikita held on to his remaining hand with enough force that he half wondered if he would end up with no hands at all by the time it was all finished.

He'd spent that first night under anesthesia so he didn't remember it, except for waking up to find Nikita curled up next to him in the morning, tear-tracks on her face.

He'd told her to sleep at home after that.

He'd avoided everyone except Birkhoff and the doctors at Division for the first week. And Nikita. She'd come every day, but only for a few hours as though she didn't want to overwhelm him with her presence. As though she were afraid that he blamed her.

But he didn't and he never would. She had done what she had to do, and there was a part of him that was even proud of her for making that judgment call.

But he still couldn't go home at night. He couldn't lie next to her and pretend that everything was fine, that everything was the way it had been.

And he couldn't reach out to her either, to stop her hurting or even to help himself.

He just couldn't…..because if he did…..

So he stalked the halls of Division, checking and re-checking inventories and figures and case reports and anything he could get his hands on.

And everyone was tip-toeing around him like he had some sort of wasting disease. Sometimes it was all he could do not to scream at them all that he _wasn't dying, thank you very much!_

And then there were other times, those days when he couldn't even get his pants on, or when it took him twenty minutes just to tie his shoes, when he wanted to yell that yes he was crippled…

…_and now completely useless, so can you all stop looking at me for something I can no longer give you!_

Useless…..just, useless and now….

And he was trying so hard to keep it together, so hard to just keep going, because they couldn't afford to have him fall apart right now. None of them could afford to have him fall apart right now.

Amanda would prey upon any weakness he showed in a second, but it was more than that, it was much more. Division needed him to be strong and in charge and steady. They were used to him being all those things and Division had gone through too many changes to afford any more. Ryan Fletcher was growing on all of them, he could see it, but Percy and Amanda and Michael himself had been the ones in charge for over a decade. And now he was the only one left.

The only thing that was consistent.

Alex was out of commission and she was hurting; she couldn't be there for any of them at the moment. She couldn't even understand what she herself was going through. She would try to be there for everyone if he broke, Michael knew that very well. That girl's heart was too big not to try, and she understood him very well, and she would use that knowledge to try and fix things. But she was young and broken and she didn't need this burden on top of everything else.

Birkhoff ….. Michael rolled his eyes in the privacy of his own mind. Birkhoff was great but he could never be called a strong and steady presence, he was more like the thorn in all of their sides. He was great, but he'd be more likely to annoy everyone in Division into ganging up and killing him then keeping them all focused on the mission.

And Nikita…..well Nikita scared the crap out of them. They were in awe of her and they looked up to her and they thought she could do anything; but she wasn't a leader, she wasn't…..consistent. She did things her own way, when she wanted to and how she wanted to. And it worked, and she was brilliant at what she did. She was amazing at inspiring people, and even at helping them to change. But running an organization, well…

….maybe she could do it. Michael knew, better than anyone, that she had hidden depths sometimes they could surprise even him. But she had been a legend to Division for so long, and then she had been an enemy. And even months later, when they were somewhat used to her, there was still a hesitancy when they looked at her. They didn't fully trust her.

So they all needed him to be…well _him. _

And the really scary part was that Michael wasn't at all sure if he could do it.

He just couldn't take it anymore, he just couldn't do it.

But he had to do it.

And he couldn't talk to Nikita about it because she couldn't help with this.

And what was funny – funny in the so not 'haha' sense – was that she didn't seem to understand why he was keeping her away.

Why people like them always pushed others away when they were breaking; why they needed silence and distance and time to rebuild the walls they had to use just to survive every single day in their world.

If he didn't distance himself it would all come pouring out of him; the anger, the fear, the complete loathing he felt at his weakness and disfigurement. And it would pour onto her and she would try to make it better, but it would just be words. Words never helped anyone. Words just hurt, or they lied. And all it would do, if he broke and leaned on Nikita, was it would hurt her too. It would hurt her even more than she was hurting now. And he couldn't do that to her.

And it wouldn't even help him if he did.

His walls – everything that he knew about himself, everything that he relied on to stay in control – had been torn down. And he had to rebuild them.

If he could just rebuild them everything would be alright.

He just needed a little time and then he could fix things.

Because he had to rebuild those walls if he wanted to go through with this, what he knew needed to happen and it was going to hurt him, but he had to do it anyway.

But he couldn't do it when he was already so out of control.

But if he didn't…

She would do something crazy. She would do something reckless.

Eventually she always did.

And he wouldn't be there to save her like he always had before.

Because he couldn't any more. Because he was broken. Because he only had one hand and it wasn't even the right one.

Because he just wasn't good enough anymore.

Not good enough anymore.

….but he couldn't be selfish and he couldn't break.

And they couldn't stop.

And he couldn't lose her.

So he would do this if it killed him. He would rebuild those walls like Birkhoff was rebuilding his hand, and then he would be Michael again. And he would be strong enough to be the rock that Nikita and Division were used to. And he would be strong enough to make sure that Nikita had someone else to watch her back and protect her.

Now that he couldn't any more.

He would be strong enough to let her go.

**Afternote: And I mean 'strong enough' in the sense that he wants to have someone else be her 'partner' on missions – like in the preview for 3x09 – not in the sense that he's going to let her leave him. Just clarifying that lol.**


End file.
